


The Scorpion King

by gingersatan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Evil AU, Kinda, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-14 21:29:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 44,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10544638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersatan/pseuds/gingersatan
Summary: Voldemort won the war, and over twenty years later, the next generation are at Hogwarts. But the school is different; no longer houses, there is only Slytherin, no longer accepting everyone, Hogwarts only takes in the pure bloods, the most loyal to the Dark Lord. And Scorpius Malfoy is one of them.Until he finds his fathers time turner, accidently changes history and finds himself in a present where, not only did Harry Potter win the battle, but his son exists...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The idea taken from Act Three of Cursed Child, I really liked the play (on stage. Still not as a script) and loved Scorpius, so wanted too see more of that 'evil' world and what would happen if the evil Scorpius came face to face with everything he was meant to hate. So... we will see where this goes.

He was king, and Hogwarts was his castle. The teachers his subjects and the students his servants. When he prowled the halls and staircases it was to see smiles from those that he liked - or needed - and eyes staring at the floor from those that he didn't. He was the Scorpion King, child of the most faithful Death Eater and he, himself, most loyal to their lord and master.  


And everyone in the Wizarding World was loyal to him. Or, almost everyone. There were still rumours of _his_ army, fighting a losing battle as if it could bring back _Harry Potter_. But one by one, they were captured. It was Scorpius' greatest wish to see Hermione Granger locked up, to hear her screams mixed with those other mudbloods in the dungeons below. To see her at the front of Dark Arts so the younger students could use her for practice.  


His father had promised it; Voldemort had promised it. If they reached their goal and finished mudbloods for good, when Granger was captured, Scorpius could have her.  


Scorpius was a King in a small part of their world, but one day, he knew he would stand at the right side of their Dark Lord and then he truly would be king.  
He strode down the corridor, his robes swirling behind him, his footsteps echoing on the stone floor. He scanned every face he passed for any sign of hate or distrust; Professor Umbridge had admitted to him that she believed there was a spy in their midst, and he wanted to capture them. But none of the students around him _looked_ like a spy. Every student here was thankful for their place and proud that they were the purest of the pure. While Scorpius didn't _like_ many of them, he knew most would never betray Hogwarts. Or Voldemort.  


Craig ran down to him, jumping neatly from one staircase to the next as they both started to move, and thrust a small pile of books at Scorpius. 'Your... Your potions homework.' he stammered. Scorpius looked at him, impassive, almost enjoying the way the boy cringed. 'I've finished it. It was... An honour, Scorpius. I enjoyed the challenge.'  


A lie, but Scorpius didn't care about that. He didn't choose his victims because he liked them. He chose them so they remembered their place, something Craig knew well. Craig, whose great grandmother was a muggle. The only reason he was at the school was because his grandparents and parents had proved their worth.  
But that didn't mean his blood was completely pure.  
Scorpius took the homework and flicked through it, checking the boy had actually done his job and not got any questions wrong. Scorpius knew every answer. But that didn't mean he had to waste his own time writing them down. 'Good.' he said, after Craig had squirmed enough. 'There will be herbology work later. Come to my room after dinner and I will give it to you.'  


'Of course Scorpion King. Of... Course.' The boy scurried off, and Scorpius let out a low laugh, throwing the parchments and books into his bag. He had been on his way to the dungeon anyway; his dorm was on the way down there anyway.  


Dorm. That was the wrong word for Scorpius' home at Hogwarts. Once, it had been the home to the entire Slytherin house, back before Slytherin was the only house. Now, it was home to Scorpius and his inner circle, his most trusted friends. They all held true pure heritage and the names that went with it. Black. Lestrange. Knott. Carrow. Avery.  
Theirs was the best rooms: under the lake, the light was always a gentle green that cast rippling shadows over the walls. The fire crackled in one corner and plush sofas were scattered around the rest of the room. Where others had to share rooms, they had one each. Scorpius' own was covered in paper clippings from when each of the DA had been caught.  


They had the best of the best, while the rest of the school were given the cast offs. Once the common rooms of the Cowardly Gryffindors, stupid Ravenclaws and useless Hufflepuffs, they were all covered in green and black and the emblem of Slytherin house and Hogwarts School. The top half of a skull over a snake in the shape of a V.  


V for victory.  


V for valour.  


V for Voldemort.  


Scorpius crossed his wrists in front of his heart as he approached the door. There was a dull click and a hiss as it opened, and he strode in, nodding his head at the girl sat in front of the fireplace. She put her book down to raise her own crosses wrists, mouthing _Voldemort and valour_ at him before going back to her book. Scorpius held back his snort. Avery had always been bookish. He thought it stupid; while she dug her way through old books like _Hogwarts; a History_ , he knew they didn't need books to know the important things.  


Twenty Three years ago, Harry Potter was captured and killed by the Dark Lord. Those that fought at Potter's side had quickly been killed or they disappeared, and those that had been on the right side were honoured forever with Voldemort's favour and given freedom and future. The injured were healed, the ones locked in Azkaban released and a new world started. A world where Draco Malfoy was head of magical law enforcement, helping to capture and stop the muggleborns that were trying to steal their magic, and where Scorpius was a king.  


But where Scorpius believed that was all that was important, Avery devoured books on their history non stop. She said it was because knowing the past could help them capture the last of the resistance, but Scorpius never quite believed her. She had access to books that no one else did - books on Harry Potter's life and first editions of the history of Dumbledore, before they were edited and rewritten by The Augurey. If Scorpius didn't know better, he would say Avery was hunting down things in the books that didn't make sense. That she didn't trust in Voldemort or their future.  


But to question that would be to have her locked away and used in Dark Arts, and for now, she was useful to him. After all, all that reading meant she was a font of knowledge. She had been the one to find the old potions book, covered in notes and strange spells. And she had been the one smart enough to read it before handing it over to Professor Umbridge. Thanks to her - and whoever the half blood prince was - Scorpius knew some interesting spells that helped pull answers out of even the most stubborn of traitor.  


So for that, Avery had earned something from him. Not friendship, but enough respect for her to be invited into the _true_ Slytherin common room. And that was enough for him to leave her alone. In peace. With her books, and the knowledge that she had to share everything she learnt with him.  
He dropped his homework on the table. One of the books slipped from the pile and crashed to the floor. Avery looked up at him, folding down the corner of the page as she shut her book.  


‘What has that book ever done to you?’ she asked him. Her hair fell into her eyes and she tied it up with a small snarl. That was, Scorpius supposed, another reason he kept her around. She was funny. And pretty.  


‘Be written.’ he replied. ‘Who needs all this anyway? _Potions_. I get it, Avery. Snape is one of the oldest and most faithful of his followers.’ A sneer. Scorpius had never liked the Potions teacher. They may have won the war, but that didn’t meant there were not casualties. Many of their own had fallen before Harry Potter had given himself up. Snape had stood by – _hidden_ – and watched it happen. Scorpius blamed him, partly, for what had happened. Because he had had _six years_ teaching Potter, and he had done nothing to kill the boy that was meant to be their Lords downfall. ‘But hasn’t Snape learnt yet that we no longer need him. We got rid of the houses, we are destroying any memory of mudbloods and traitors. We no longer need him.’  


‘Okay.’ He would have said something about the lack of interest in her voice, but she had heard his complaints far more than even he would admit. ‘Scorpius?’  


‘What.’  


‘How many times have I told you not to call me Avery?’  


‘I’ve lost count, _Roxanne._ ’ While he was the only Malfoy at the school, she was one of four Averys. And he called each of them by their surname. It had worked for his parents, and their parents. ‘You should be proud to carry that name. Your grandfather-‘  


‘Died in Azkaban after not betraying Voldemort, yes, I know. Hurray, he was a hero. But he isn’t me.’  


‘Roxanne-‘  


‘Oh, go and be the Scorpion King somewhere else. I’m reading.’  


He strode back to the door, turning to watch her as she picked up her book again. Scorpius didn’t trust many people. And the people closest to him, he trusted the least, because they were the ones that would find it easiest to stab him in the back. But Avery – he would have to watch her. She was a spark of anger and he never understood why. He assumed it was _jealousy_. He was the one that was set for the best future. Professor Umbridge had already hinted at him being Headboy when he was old enough. And after that, he would follow his father into working in The Augurey. He would stand at the right hand side of Voldemort and he would watch as traitors to their world burnt. There would always be those at Hogwarts that wanted his place. But Avery’s anger was more than that. It was an anger at being a name. Scorpius would say it was almost an anger at who they _all_ were. But he would not say it.  


Not until he had proof. And then he would rip any confession out of her along with her screams.  


For now, he only said ‘Voldemort and Valour’ and watched as she said the same, before striding out of the door and turning to the stairs that descended into the heart and horrors of Hogwarts. He had work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

Hogwarts had always been full of hidden rooms and strange shortcuts. His father’s last words to him on the train platform in his first year were only _keep your eyes wide and ears open._ It was more a warning to watch the people around him, but Scorpius knew the stories of his father’s days at the school. It had been one of the first things he had done, walked from room to room finding the secrets of the school.

Many rooms were empty. Other’s had doors that wouldn’t open, that had sealed themselves the second the war was won, and no one other than the ghosts knew what was inside. And they wouldn’t talk. The number of students was low; the school shut down unwanted rooms. Before the war, Hogwarts had taken in everything, mixed their blood and tried to turn even the purest muddy. Scorpius knew that even a _squib_ had managed to get in once before and had managed to be sorted before being found out. Now, the pool of students were from purer bloodline. And a few that couldn’t help what they were, but came from families that were trusted. Because not all pureblood families were perfect either.

Like the Weasleys.

Scorpius smirked as he hopped down the stairs, tucking his hands into his pockets as his cloak billowed out behind him. He wasn’t meant to be down here. The only time students were meant to be in the dungeons was with one of the teachers, or during Dark Arts. But no one would stop Scorpius. Not when this was _training_. Not when the dungeon had been his idea. Before him, they stuffed the mudbloods and traitors into their own small dorm, dragging them out one by one when they were needed for teaching. They were treated as _guests_. But now they were guarded by the dementors that had once been the torturers for people like Scorpius’ great aunt. Now, they were thrown into the cells that they had put Death Eaters into.

They should be thankful. House elves were ordered to take them meals – though they were told never to speak to the traitors – and, until they were deemed _unnecessary_ , they were patched up and healed if they needed it. It was far more than any of them deserved. 

The air was almost freezing when Scorpius reached the last step. He pulled his cloak in around him, watching his breath turn to clouds and rise up. It didn’t matter how many times Scorpius came down here, he always forgot how bad the dementors made it feel. They weren’t allowed to use their powers on students, but if there was something inside someone that hurt and the dementors were near, they felt it more than anything else.

Down here, Scorpius always remembered his mother. Remembered her smiles and gentle laughter and how his father always seemed… quieter around her. And the ache in his heart grew.

But that was a weakness and his father had raised him well enough that Scorpius knew he should not have a weakness. So he schooled his face and crushed that part of him down, and walked through the cells. He ignored most of them, their inhabitants too uninteresting to capture his attention, or too broken to be any good. Most huddled at the back of the small cells, covered in the ragged blankets they were given so they didn’t freeze to death. Further down the long corridor, someone screamed.

Scorpius paused outside one cell. It was slightly cleaner than the rest, with a real bed in it, though its occupier hadn’t thanked them for it. Hadn’t done anything but wailed and cursed at them.

‘Professor Trelawney.’ Scorpius said warmly; teachers had told him he was far more charming than his father had been at the same age. But it wasn’t charm, not with this woman. It was _mocking._

And she knew it. Her wild eyes peered up at him through a mess of grey hair. There was a thick crack in one of the lenses of her glasses. She was the one person in the dungeons that was untouchable. The one person they _tried_ to look after. But she refused everything from them. ‘ _Scorpion._ ’ 

He smiled. ‘How are you today?’

‘Why are you here?’

‘Because Hogwarts is my home.’ A sneer, and she shrunk back. Umbridge took break pleasure in telling stories of her first time at the school. The horrors that _he_ let happen in the school, and this _creature_ being a teacher was one of them. Umbridge had tried to get rid of her, so the school would have better and safer lessons, but she had been shouted down.

Well, now Trelawney would never leave Hogwarts. She would never teach again, but she was Voldemort’s property now. She had been the one to prophesize Harry Potter. She had also prophesied what would happen in Harry Potter’s third year. And so many more, over the years. Voldemort didn’t want someone like her out of his power. And he wanted to know everything she said that could be seen as a prophecy. Just in case.

She tilted her head to the side. ‘This school is not your home. Not yet.’

‘What?’

‘I do not need to see the planets or read your leaves to know that this is _wrong_.’

He laughed. ‘Go back and study your palm, Trelawney. You have my future wrong, maybe you should check your own.’

With another chuckle, he walked away from her. She called after him, words that made sense in her head but he couldn’t be bothered to decipher. They had all been warned; the only time anyone needed to listen to her was when she couldn’t remember what she was saying. Everything else was lies, words used to try and get people on her side.

A few years before Scorpius started at Hogwarts, a woman tried to get into the castle. She had _managed_ to get in – through a passageway no one else seemed to know about. But instead of doing something _brave_ , something anyone else from her ruined house of Gryffindor, she had gone to the dungeons and tried to break Trelawney out.

It was said Umbridge killed her while smiling, in front of Trelawney, and dumped the body in the lake.

No one had tried since then. Scorpius didn’t think there was anyone left in the Wizarding World that cared about her.

The person he was really here to visit, however… 

She was not in a cell like the others, with only bars to stop their freedom. No. She had been one of the _better_ rebels, and they didn’t trust her enough to leave her out in the open. Scorpius made his way down the corridor, until the cells stopped and the stone doors started. Three down, he stopped, pausing so he could hear if there was already someone else in there. Then, he pulled out his wand and tapped it on the centre stone. The doorway appeared and Scorpius walked inside.

Sat in the corner, her orange hair alight in the dim candles they left her, she stared at him with open malice. There was dried blood on her face; a shallow, half-healed cut crossed the side of her forehead.

‘If you leave it like that.’ Scorpius said, striding in. ‘You may get a scar that matches the one Harry Potter had.’

She didn’t bother to answer, only watched him. So he tucked his wand back into his pocket and leant back against the wall. The door had completely disappeared. 

‘Fred Weasley.’ he said, having the satisfaction when she flinched. Even after all this time. ‘Died in the battle of Hogwarts. George Weasley, a year later, trying to kill the man who killed your brother.’ He paused. ‘That backfired.’

‘Stop.’

‘Molly Weasley, protecting _you_ , so you could run. Percy. Bill. Charlie, all in the past five years, uselessly dying because none of you know when to stop. Arthur Weasley… well, _no one_ knows what happened to him.’

The woman in front of him smiled. She was missing more than one tooth. ‘And none of you ever will.’

This was the same dance they did with every traitor they found. Yet they all broke in the end. ‘Your Chosen One is dead, Ginny Weasley. There are so few of you left. Who is it now, Ron and Hermione? Your great Dumbledore’s Army, now only two people left.’

‘We have more people than you will ever know, Malfoy. Everywhere you turn, you could be looking at one of ours, and you won’t know. Desperation drives us all to do terrible things. It turns children into murderers.’ A look so pointed he ignored it. ‘And it turns other children against everything they have ever known. This is all you know, Malfoy. If you questioned it, you would be on our side.’

‘Enough.’ A bored word, but it was anger in his movements when he pulled out his wand and muttered a spell. She screamed as she fell face first into the dirt. He crouched down in front of her, waiting for her to lift her head up. ‘Tell me where they are,’ he said, ‘and I will make sure you see your brother before you die. Tell me where they are, and you will not be used as target practice.’

‘I never trusted your father. Why would I trust you?’

‘Because-‘

‘You are all murderers, liars and ruined. You think Harry was the bad one, while it is Voldemort-‘

‘ _You do not have the right to speak his name._ ’ Scorpius snarled. Only the most loyal, only those he knew he would always be able to trust, were allowed to call him that. It was a privilege that Scorpius refused to have _blood traitors_ ruin.

‘I don’t have the right to do anything. That won’t stop me.’

‘We will see.’ He waved his wand at her again, before turning back and reopening the door. He left to the sound of her screams, and anger that over twenty long years since they had won, Harry Potter’s group of friend _wouldn’t stop._

They used traitors in classes. For spells and potions that needed testing, to show the effects of magical plants. To remind students who they were. But Ginny Weasley – she would know where her brother was. And he would lead them to Granger, and the rebellion would fall.

He knew what he had to do. Speak to his father, ask for a vial of Veritaserum and prove why he should stand at Voldemort’s side.


	3. Chapter 3

He had to wait for school to break up to talk to his father. Before his mother had died, Scorpius had sent letters home weekly, and got them in return. He had started the third year the same, desperate to keep the link with his family when he felt like, inside, a big part of his life was falling apart. But he quickly realised that, while both his parent's names had signed the bottom of letters, it was his mother that had read his own and penned words back to him.

Draco Malfoy was a good father. Strict, always at arms length and sometimes quiet, yes, but good. But he held a high job in the Wizarding World, and sometimes Scorpius was given the back seat. 

So he didn’t bother with writing letters to his father. He waited until the half term finished in the middle of October and left Hogwarts under the drizzle of cold rain, walking down to Hogsmeade and slipping inside of the Three Broomsticks. He was greeted with a cheerful hello and an offer of a Butterbeer, but he shook his head, reaching over the bar to grab a handful of floo power and walking to the fire.

Most students still went home on the train. The Hogwarts train was almost as famous as the school itself; once every few months, parents didn't mind having to wade through the crowds of muggles to collect their children. And there were far less muggles these days.

The Wizarding War had slipped through the cracks in their hidden lives and to this day, it was a joke on the muggles that the _tragedies_ they faced each year - the bridges falling down and the fires in huge shopping centres – they were not tragedies at all, but games wizards played to see who was better, quicker, and who would kill the most.

Scorpius disagreed with it. He was happy to break the traitors from their own world, was happy to destroy any memory of muggleborns ever having magic. But the actual muggle world was vast and innocent. It had been centuries since muggles used to try and burn them at the stake. They had forgotten magic was real, and with every _tragedy_ there was more chance of them believing once more.

But that wasn't the reason Scorpius travelled by floo powder. He told most people it was easier, and that was partly true. But really, it was because there was no longer anyone who would pick him up from the train station. His mother always had. His father was always too busy.

And despite what people thought of his family, there was no one else there to help. Scorpius and his father lived alone in a small cottage in the middle of endless countryside, the opposite to what Draco had had growing up. But the huge, intimidating Malfoy Manor no longer existed. His father had let it turn to ruins after Narcissa died. He never spoke of it. Scorpius never asked.

'The Malfoy cottage.' Scorpius said as he threw the floor powder down. The fire hissed and turned a bright green before he was pulled away from the pub.

He saw glimpses of other houses as he passed them, heard snatches of conversation and murmuring voices. Sometimes he wondered what would happen if he stepped out too early. Where he would end up. Who he would see. There were many houses around that were still on the floo network, but were empty. Or had been taken by muggles. Rumour had it that the Weasleys own home, the Burrow, still existed, protected by spells that meant it couldn't be torn down. Scorpius had stayed at Hogwarts for many holidays, and that rumour had become a game. Daring others to visit the place where so many blood traitors grew up.

Scorpius had never told anyone, but he had been there. Aged twelve, his mother and father out for the day and him left alone, he had been bored. And already knowing how he wanted his future to be, he wanted to prove himself. What else would be better than finding the last of the biggest blood traitor family around?

The house was barely a house. Poverty screamed from the moment he left the fire. The Malfoy lived in a small cottage, but it was cared for, loved and they still had money. It was clear, whatever the Weasleys were, it wasn't rich. Dust clung to every surface, pictures on the walls were faded, some of them torn, their inhabitants sat in corners to avoid the ruined parts. Many of the picture frames were empty. Scorpius had wondered about that until he had walked up the stairs and seen the whole family squashed into one frame, hugging each other tightly. The face of Molly Weasley had stared at him accusingly.

It had felt so wrong to be there, intruding on another life. They were still traitors, all of them still trying to ruin the future that Voldemort had given the Wizarding World, but it was clear there was nothing but memories in the house they once had.

As Scorpius had left, he had seen the clock in the kitchen. It had more than three hands, though most of them were grey and clearly hadn't moved in years, three had been left, pointing to the same word. _Mortal peril_.

Those two words had been with him ever since. The rebels thought they were the ones in peril – and they were, partly. They were the hunted, but they had brought that on themselves. The rest of the Wizarding World was in mortal peril from _them_. The remainder of the army that fought by Harry Potter’s side threatened to destroy everything they had made, everything they were, and everything they could be. _That_ was why Scorpius wanted to stop them all. That was why he would.

He stepped out of the fireplace and into the front room of their cottage. It was quiet, but Scorpius didn’t expect anything else. He jumped over the sofa and walked out into the corridor, flicking on the light as he looked around.

‘Afternoon, Aunt.’ He said, to the first portrait he came across. The woman in the painting grinned at him, her eyes slightly too wide and her hair a mess around her head. She was technically his great aunt, but she had never wanted to be called that. Just as her daughter never wanted to be known as anything other than _cousin_ to Scorpius. The only time they were known as anything else was when they were all in public. Then Bellatrix became _Lady_. A name that meant nothing other than the mother of the Dark Lord’s child, and Delphini became nothing more than The Augurey. Their great government named for the daughter that would be just as great as her father. ‘Can you go to your other portrait and tell my father I’m home?’

‘Tortured anyone interesting recently, Scorp?’ 

Bellatrix Lestrange had spent a long time in Azkaban in the company of the dementors and her own mind. People said she had been crazy before, and it had only got worse when she escaped the prison.

But she had always liked violence and torture. She had tortured a couple into insanity, and laughed as she was taken away. She expected great things – the same things, for both Delphi and Scorpius.

‘I’ll tell you _after_ I’ve talked to dad.’

She sighed, but walked out the side of the frame. Scorpius carried on moving, greeting the various portraits until he got to his room. He shut the door and looked around. His room had hardly changed in the four years he had been at school. He was barely ever here, there was no point in it changing.

School books and work covered a bookshelf on one wall. Most people threw out the books from their previous years. Scorpius didn’t. He didn’t read them again, didn’t look at them. But he kept them.

On the table by his bed, there was a single photo frame. He picked it up. In the photo, there was a young Scorpius, laughing as his mother spun him in circles. It was a photo; a spilt second of a memory. Unlike portraits, photos couldn’t hold a memory of a person’s personality. Scorpius couldn’t speak to this photo and hear his mother’s voice, no matter how much he wished he could. 

He opened his mouth, then shut it, nodding to himself before putting the photo back down, falling back onto the bed and waiting.

It took his father over an hour to arrive. Scorpius heard the door open, and the familiar thud of his father's briefcase hitting the floor.

‘Three, two… one.’ Scorpius muttered to himself. His door opened and his father strode in, dressed in a sharp black suit that made his pale hair look even more white. ‘Hello father.’

‘Scorpius.’

‘Nice day at work?’

‘Unfinished. I have paperwork, Scorpius. Did you pull me away for a reason?’

A good father, but an unloving one. Scorpius sat up. ‘Ginny Weasley.’

His father didn’t smile – Scorpius didn’t think he had smiled since his mother had died – but there was something, a small hint of approval in his eyes. ‘Dolores said you had been down there more than you should have been.’

Scorpius shrugged. 

‘You must be careful, Scorpius. If you spend too long down there _especially_ when you are not meant to be there alone, people will start to… question things.’

‘Question what? I’m the _Scorpion King_. That school is mine.’

‘And Dumbledore’s Army are known to lie their way into your heads so you believe their tricks.’ Draco should know. He had been the one to grow up with them. He had been the one to _almost_ go to their side, convinced that his own family were wrong and Harry Potter right. He had been saved, however, and knew more than most how much the rebels needed to be stopped.

His anger had passed down to his son. Scorpius knew enough about his father’s time at Hogwarts to know it was not perfect. And most of the things that had ruined his time there fell on the three that everyone else saw as wonderful. Harry Potter, the boy who could do no wrong, even as he snuck out at night to smuggle dragons. Hermione Granger, the know-it-all who treated everyone else as though they were less, because they didn’t read. She shouldn’t have even been at the school. And Ron Weasley, the blood traitor.  
‘If anyone thinks a traitor could sway me, it is their own loyalty that needs to be checked.’

‘Spoken like a true Malfoy.’ A pause, and it looked like Draco was about to say something else. Something different, but he only shook his head before looking at his son. ‘What did you want with the Weasley?’

‘Do you know how long she’s been down there?’

Draco pulled out his wand, flicking it, and a small folder flew through the door and hovered in front of him. Scorpius wasn’t surprised; his father was just as likely to work at home as he was in the office, and most of the spare room was taken up by folders of old cases and clippings from the _Daily Prophet_. Draco pulled out pieces of parchment and scanned them.

‘We caught her in July, handed her over to the school in the first week of September.’ At Scorpius’ silence, Draco looked up. ‘No one in The Augurey could get anything out of her, Scorpius. You shouldn’t be disappointed if none of the students can. We send them to you to _learn_. And that is what you are doing.’

‘But she knows something.’ A frustrated groan. ‘I understand, father, I do. We use magic on them because that is what we are there to learn. But this is a _Weasley_. If you would just let me-‘

‘No.’

‘You don’t even know what I was going to say.’

‘With you, Scorpius, it would be a bad idea.’

‘But-‘

‘I will not let you risk yourself just to get answers from a traitor we do not need!’

‘Veritaserum. That was all I was going to say.’

‘It takes a month to make Veritaserum, Scorpius. And there are better uses for it. Besides, we stopped using it because they learnt to resist it.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You are a child. _My_ child. You do not need to know everything yet.’ Draco’s tone was enough to tell Scorpius he had had enough. Quiet – some would say it was almost caring, those first words, but only the people who didn’t know him – but with enough threat that said to _drop the subject_. 

Scorpius ignored it. ‘But-‘

‘If that was all you wanted, Scorpius, I am going back to work. There are more important things to do in The Augurey than sit and try and get the truth out of a traitor. Like finding the rest of them.’ Draco stood and walked out.

Scorpius waited for the door to close before muttering to himself. ‘Hello, son. How is it, being the Scorpion King? How has school been? Any detentions recently, anything I need to know about? Have you got a date for the Blood Ball yet, you can’t take Avery again, people will start to expect something.’ He stood up, stomping to the door. ‘Fine. I know you keep a vial of it somewhere, I’ll do it myself. You sit and do paperwork, I’ll be the one to find out where they all are.’


	4. Chapter 4

His father's study was two doors down from Scorpius’ room. It had always frightened him as a child. His father would disappear into it for hours, and all that would be heard was the rustling of papers or the harsh arguments between him and whoever’s face was showing in the fire. Though he knew there was nothing in there, the constantly closed door made the young Scorpius imagine monsters that his father tamed.

As he aged, he knew that was all fictions; monsters existed but there were none behind the door to the study. The only thing that kept him out then was his father’s watchful eyes and the fact he didn’t want to upset his mother by breaking the rules of the house.

Now though, Scorpius was fifteen, and though there were a few things in the world that scared him, his father and the study were not on that list. His father was just a man, and the study just a room – a room that happened to hold a lot of interesting items.

He pushed the door. Unsurprisingly, it was locked, but that wasn’t much of a deterrent. One of the first rules that Voldemort had changed was the ridiculous idea that _underage_ wizards weren’t allowed to do magic away from school. So when Scorpius tapped the lock and whispered _alohomora_ , he knew there would be no great repercussions because of it. Other than from his father, but hopefully he would never notice that Scorpius had never been in there. 

Scorpius paused in the doorway, his eyebrows shooting up as he looked around the room he assumed would be as tidy and cold as his father. But it was the complete opposite.  
There were old books piled up in corners, and newer books in stacks that looked half ruined. Scorpius recognised a few of the titles; books that had been banned and destroyed when the Dark Lord won. The fact his father had saved copies was strange - though he was head of magical law enforcement, so maybe it was for research. Or things he had taken from people when he caught them. There were photos plastered onto the walls. Photos screaming the word _wanted_ in startling red. Others that has red crosses put across them. The missing and the found. But what surprised Scorpius the most was how many photos there were of _him_ up there. Him and his mother throughout the years. Scorpius' letter welcoming him to Hogwarts was hung up behind his father's desk, along with letters he has sent home and his exam results from the first few years.

He had always resented his father for seeming to care more for his job than for his son. But he was wrong, it seemed. Draco may not have had the ability to say it, but his study showed it.

Scorpius smiled as he shut the door behind him and started looking around for the vial of potion. There seemed to be no order to the mess. Official documents were scattered between memos and letters from family friends and his father's colleagues, odd looking objects lay discarded on every free surface; an old, strange looking locket was being used as a paperweight and a battered goblet was half covered by a tattered green and silver tie.

Scorpius lifted up everything he could, peered into the drawers that weren't full of half written parchments and dug around in the dark corners, but he couldn't find anything. After what seemed like hours, he huffed, collapsing into the plush chair in front of the desk. He was almost at giving up, though those two words were rare in his vocabulary. He didn't know where to look - if there was nothing in the house, it would be at his father's office in The Augurey and there was no way Scorpius would be able to go snooping in there.  
His eyes fell on the drawers in the desk. So obvious, yet Scorpius had completely forgotten about them. He pulled on the handle of the top one, yanking it open. Empty. His heart fell, but he moved to the middle drawer.

Where he struck gold.

Nestled between old broken quills and noted on torn paper was a small vial of... Something. It took him a second to work out what it was.

Veritaserum was as clear as water, with a scent to match. This potion was like liquid gold, shimmering slightly in the light as Scorpius picked it up. Felix Felicis. He smirked - liquid luck was hard to come by, and Scorpius would take anything that gave him an edge - and turned to the other object in the drawer.

It was large. Cupping it in both his hands, his fingers barely touched. It was oval in shape, the centre of it looking almost unattached from the rest, though it didn't move or fall out. It was filled with something that moved as he rolled it around. Scorpius assumed it was sand. There were numbers around the outside, but Scorpius couldn't work out what they were for. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t work out what. All he knew was that it looked interesting. He pocketed it along with the golden potion, checked the last drawer briefly before closing everything, walking out and relocking the door.

He stuffed both items in the bottom of his bag, covering them with his winter robes, ready to take back to school. He didn’t need to hide them. Even in the holidays, his father was barely ever home, and while Delphi would often visit him – more for her own entertainment than for his – they wouldn’t expect to _need_ to look for anything hidden from them. But Scorpius was a naturally mistrustful person. His mother had once told him he was just like his father, and Scorpius had believed her. Draco Malfoy trusted no one; his school years had been terrible and people he had grown up with tried to change sides to protect themselves, and they were the ones that ended up dead. His mother and father had lied and cheated their way through life, upsetting not only the old Ministry – meaning Draco had grown up under the watchful eye of everyone – but even the Dark Lord.

No matter who you trusted, they would one day break that trust, his father had taught him, and Scorpius had remembered every word. And followed them. For he didn’t even trust his family. Loved them, cared for them, protected them and followed them, yes. But the only person he knew to trust was Voldemort, for it was his word that was law.

Scorpius waited. For six days, he waited for his father to go into his study and realise there was something missing. For six days, his hands itched every time he went near his bag, wanting to use the liquid luck to find the right potion and get what he wanted.

But his father never realised and he refused to waste the potion, knowing it would be better to save it for when he _really_ needed it. So Scorpius waited, and on the night he left to go back to Hogwarts, he lifted up his bag, complete with the stolen potion and object, and left the house.


	5. Chapter 5

He cornered Avery in the common room an hour after arriving back at the school. He would have done sooner, but the second he had arrived back, other students surrounded him, asking about his holiday and telling him about theirs. He didn’t care, but he would never tell them that. They all thought him a friend, his equal, and it was easier to watch them that way, when they forgot that a king was never on the same level as his subjects.

She was – no surprise – curled up in front of the fire with a pile of books at her side.

‘Do you ever leave?’ Scorpius asked as he dropped his bag in the chair behind her. ‘Or do the house elves just come and check you are alive every day or something?’

She didn’t answer until she got to the end of the page and turned it. ‘I leave. Occasionally I sleep. And go to the toilet.’

‘Such an amazing life. Tell me, what are you going to do when you leave school and realise there are no more books to read and more important things to do?’

He didn’t need her to be facing him to know she was rolling her eyes. He could practically _hear_ it. ‘What are you going to do, Scorpius, when you realise that you know nothing about our world, and that you should have listened to me?’

‘I do listen to you. You were the one who taught me-‘

‘A load of spells that you can’t exactly use in everyday life.’

‘Avery. _Roxanne_. This is my everyday life.’ He held his arms out. ‘And I use those spells every day. I don’t know what you are talking about.’

She scowled at him; another reason he didn’t mind her being around. People like Craig, they bowed as he walked towards them. Others tried to befriend him because of who he was. Girls, like _Polly Chapman_ , tried to become a _queen_ , not realising that Scorpius didn’t want, or need one. The school was his and he would never share it. Avery had never been impressed or scared. She just was. Even Scorpius needed someone like that sometimes, even if he was convinced it was because she didn’t believe in them or Voldemort.

She laughed, the sound low. Vicious. ‘Here, you are a king, Scorpius. Your everyday life is not exactly _normal_. But what are you outside the walls of Hogwarts? Another boy, fighting to stand by the Dark Lords side. You become _ordinary_.’

 

‘I will never be ordinary.’ He pushed his bag towards her. ‘I have a question for you.’

‘I don’t want your cast-off robes, if that’s what you’re asking.’

‘Open it.’

She shifted around on the floor to face him, cutting a glance that said nothing other than how annoyed she was becoming at him. Because he had interrupted her precious reading time. But she grabbed the bag anyway; even she knew there was only so far you could push before Scorpius got bored and _accidently_ hit people on his own sides with painful or creative spells. Or both. 

She pulled out the potion first, a glint in her eyes as she realised what it was. A glint that disappeared as Scorpius leant over and snatched it out of her hands, burying it in his pocket.

'You are no fun.' she grumbled. As if he cared what she thought of him. 

She turned the bag upside-down, letting the object slide onto her hands. She stared at it, turning it this way and that with an odd expression on her face.

'Well?' 

She shook her head. 'I don't know.'

'That's not good enough, Avery.'

'What else am I meant to say? Make it up?'

'Or find out the truth.'

'Sometimes you ask the impossible.' she muttered. She stared back down at it, running her hand over the smooth surface, back and forth, back and forth, enough times and in enough silence that Scorpius started to lose his patience. Finally, though, she stood up, passing it back to him as she almost ran to the door.

'Where are you going?' he called after her.

'Library!' 

He shouldn't have been surprised. What he was surprised about, however, was the fact that he stayed there, holding the object in his hands. He started to pace to room, back and forth, but he stayed, knowing Avery was his best chance at finding out what it was. Because he was too lazy, too important to look for the answer himself.

While she was gone, the common room slowly filled up with the others who lived there. Scorpius ignored them, other than answering the loyal phrase of the school. They were happy to ignore him too; Scorpius pacing was a clear sign to stay clear of him, even if you knew him well enough to count him as an almost- friend.

Finally, Avery reappeared, hauling a pile of books with her. At first glance, it looked like she had charmed them to hover behind her, but Scorpius noticed the spindly legs of a house elf shaking under the weight of them quickly. As the elf dropped them on the table, it paused, panting for breath before Avery barked at it to leave.

Scorpius was almost disappointed. House elves, no matter the treatment, would have brought them snacks, which he needed if Avery was going to make him search through books.

'Got enough?' he asked as Avery collapsed back onto the floor, grabbing the top book. 

'Probably.' She flicked through it, the pages crumpling under her fingers, until she found the correct one. Scorpius leant over her shoulder to read it, though most of the page was taken up by a giant drawing of something he recognised.

'A time turner? Avery, we already know about these, that's third year Charms.'

Charms was an almost useless subject now. His father had told him before of spells they used to learn. Turning animals into feathers and making pineapples dance. Now, charms was more about charmed objects the use and making of them. How things like cursed necklaces had been used in the past.

It was the nearest to History of Magic that they got; the subject – and Binns – had been erased from the school years before Scorpius had gone there. Many of the remaining ghosts still talked about him though, in hushed whispers as if worried that they would be next.

' _Look_ at it, Scorpius.' She placed the book on her lap and held her hands close together. 'A time turner is about this big, yes?'

He nodded, though he wasn't completely sure. It wasn't as if part of their lesson was using one.

'But that's for an hour. Of course it's going to be small. But the markings on it.' She went to take it off him again, but he tightened his hands. She scowled. 'They are the same. That one is bigger because it's probably more powerful, but I've read enough on time turners to know what they look like. Even personalised ones, there are enough features to show what it is.'

'It's a time turner.'

'That would be my guess. Though I'm going to look through these and find out if that's even possible.' She fixed him with a stare than made him feel like she talked to him too much. 'Don't use it, Scorpius. Not until we know _exactly_ what it is.'

He smirked, tracing an x over his heart as he stuck it in his pocket and walked out. She hollered something after him, but he didn't bother listening.

No one ordered him about. No one except his family and the Dark Lord, at least. He may have liked that Avery stood up to him, but there was a line. She didn't have the _right_ to tell him what to do, and that only made him want to use it more.

He ambled out to the grounds. It was gently raining, but he didn't care; Scotland was always slightly miserable. He was convinced that was why the school was there. He made his way down to the edge of the forest, where the ruined remains of a wrecked cottage stood. The reminder of what happened when you backed the wrong side; the cottage was all that was left of Harry Potter's friends at the school. Most people avoided it because of that, but it meant it was the perfect place for Scorpius.

He pulled out the object – the time turner – and held it up. He gripped it with one hand and with the other, he twisted the centre around. It stuck at first, and he almost gave up, ready to run and tell Avery she was wrong. But with a small groan, it moved with ease, and he twisted it once, twice, thrice before it started spinning on its own. Faster and faster, turning an odd yellow, it whistled with the speed. 

He tore his eyes away from it, grinning from ear to ear.

Until he realised that the world around him was spinning too, ghosts of past students walking backwards, quicker and quicker until everything was a blur.

And then it stopped as quickly as it started, and Scorpius landed on his knees with a thump.


	6. Chapter 6

The sun was out. That was the first thing Scorpius noticed, as he pushed himself back up to his feet. He felt unsteady, like his feet would fall from under him again, but he grabbed hold of a tree to lean against, staring at the time turner in his hands. 

Well, his current surroundings proved one thing at least. It worked. Even if he had no idea where – _when_ – he was. It was warm. Far too warm for the late October it had been only seconds ago. Birds and other bird-like creatures sang from inside the forest, and the calls from more human-like creatures could be heard getting louder and louder. _Students._

‘Merlin.’ Scorpius muttered. He couldn’t be seen; until he knew _when_ he was, he couldn’t risk it. It was one of the few things there were warned about while studying time turners. If you were seen by yourself, you could turn yourself crazy. While Scorpius thought that the world would be a better place with two of him in it, he didn’t want to risk that theory. 

As he saw heads cresting the hills of the grounds, he dove for cover, throwing himself at the door of the hut and falling inside. It was only _after_ making sure he was alone that he realised that the hut shouldn't have been there. At least, not whole or liveable. He froze, turning on the spot and taking in the dark, musty place someone _lived_ in.

'This is impossible.' He let out a laugh; most people would have been scared, nervous, in a situation like this. Scorpius was the opposite. Because he knew what it meant.

This hut hadn't been lived in for over twenty years. It hadn't been standing for most of that time either, which meant Scorpius had travelled far enough back that he was _before_ the war. His grin widened at the thought. There was so much to do here, so many mudbloods and traitors and idiots that needed stopping, and while he couldn't _kill_ anyone, he could wreck havoc.

He carefully moved around the hut, watching his feet before putting them down anywhere. Someone may have lived there, but they didn't understand cleanliness, and Scorpius didn't want to pick something up by standing in something disgusting.

There was a noise from under a table, and Scorpius crouched down, slowly, his wand out. He wasn't sure what to expect. A hoard of rats, maybe. Or the huts owner – though he had heard enough stories of Hagrid the Groundskeeper to know that the bumbling man was too much of a giant to be able to hide anywhere.

What he didn't expect was a book, it's pages clamped shut with a belt, snarling and straining to escape. It jumped towards him, and while Scorpius was not afraid enough to jump back, he did carefully shuffle. After all, being caught and injured in the past would mean he might be found, and that would just be confusing and tiring. Though he longed to see the look on any pre-war persons face when he announced to them that the Dark Lord would win and they would all die.

He stood up and moved away from the table, walking around the rest of the house – if it could be called that. He wasn't sure what he was looking for. A newspaper, maybe. Or anything that told him what year it was. The logical solution was to use the time turner and go back to the present and study it there. But Scorpius wasn't _logical_. Logic, like _bravery_ was a thing of the past. This past. Scorpius was cunning and ambitious and _better_ than that. So he trod around the room until he found a letter. Most of it was ruined; what looked like tea had spilt and smudged the ink. But the name at the beginning stood out. 

This time, Scorpius' laugh was loud and harsh. 'Of all the times...' he muttered to himself. 

For the name, written in giant, childlike writing, was _Harry_. And no witch or wizard after the war would name their child that. And it wasn't exactly common before.

Scorpius had landed right in the middle of Harry Potter's time at Hogwarts.

Perfect.

He picked up the letter and squinted at it, his mouth forming the words slowly as he tried to decipher as much as he could. And with every word, his grin, his smug satisfaction and his excitement only rose. The letter seemed to be talking about the Triwizard Tournament. Specifically, the last task. And with the lack of anyone in the hut, and the excited loud voices outside, Scorpius worked out that this must be the day.

The day the Dark Lord returned to them. The day, unfortunately, that made Harry Potter even more famous.

Scorpius looked out the window, a plan forming in his mind. It was mad. Stupid. But Harry Potter didn't deserve to be as well known as he was. He still had to reach the centre - Scorpius, and everyone else in their world knew how this day had to run – but that didn't mean he couldn't be humiliated. Just like the other Hogwarts Student had been.

No one knew what had really happened in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament. It had been underwater, and the champions hadn’t spoken of it. All anyone knew was that only minutes after they had dived into the lake, Cedric Diggory had come flying back up, gasping for breath and refusing to carry on. He had come last, and he had _never_ gotten over it. Never got past the fact that he became the laughing stock of Hogwarts School, while Potter became its love. For the few, short hours until the Wizarding World decided he had gone crazy, refusing to accept the Dark Lord was back.

That was their mistake.

But for now, while Potter still needed to reach the middle of the maze first, it didn’t stop him from being humiliated. And reminding him that he wasn’t the best. And the boy that joined their side after seeing that Potter wasn’t the right person to follow – he needed a reason _not_ to be humiliated. 

Scorpius waited until most of the students had moved away from the hut before opening the door slightly, and waving his wand, muttering under his breath; he didn’t want anyone to hear him.

Seconds later, he heard a gentle _whooshing_ as a set of thick, reddish robes flew towards him. He caught them, slamming the door before putting them on; he had been in Hogwarts long enough to know an unknown face in your own school uniform was suspicious. An unknown face in another uniform was normal.

Then he made his way slowly up to the Quidditch pitch, scanning the crowd for faces he knew. And he knew _a lot_. It was odd to see, someone else’s face looking so similar to the faces he knew. Family genes were strong – he, after all, looked _just_ like his father. But these people were not the same. Even the Slytherins were _less_. Less proud, less of themselves, cowering under the weight and judgement of the other three houses. Houses that thought themselves better, when they were not.

How he wished to confront them all. Remind them all how low down the food chain they really were. Tell them what their future held; death, destruction, and a life of running, because they had chosen wrong. How he wished he could face the Slytherins and _tell_ them that they were better.

But he couldn’t. It could change the future too much. He could come face to face with his father as a teenager and that would be even worse. And his mother… she would only be twelve. She wouldn’t know who he was. Maybe he could – 

No. He clenched his fists by his side. His mother was one of his few regrets; she had loved him, but by the time she had died, he knew she was more ashamed of what he and his father were becoming than she had been before. If he could apologise, _explain_ to her why he fought so hard to keep Hogwarts, to keep them all safe… But upsetting her while she was a child wouldn’t make any difference. 

Time turners were a dangerous thing. They tempted you into never letting the past go. Scorpius wondered how many times his father had used it, just to see his mother again. How many times he had gone back and tried to save her?

Scorpius stepped out into the sunlight, looking around quickly to make sure no one had seen him. Tucking his hands into the large fur-lined pockets, he strolled down to the Quidditch pitch. He could tell where the champions were without searching; there was a gaggle of girls all giggling together, and as Scorpius approached them, it was to see the Durmstrang champion in the centre of them. Cedric would be nearby. Scorpius looked around, but he was the only champion missing, so he crept towards the tent and slipped inside. The Hufflepuff was scowling at the floor in silence, not a single person around him.

Scorpius coughed. And was ignored. So he coughed again, taking a pace towards the other boy.

Who looked up with an expression on his face so full of hate that Scorpius would have been impressed if it was aimed at someone else. ‘If you are here to gloat,’ Cedric said, ‘then you should know your friends have already been here. Potter and Krum are the ones that might win, I know that, so can you just leave me _alone_.’ 

Cedric Diggory. One of their own, who had joined Voldemorts side in his seventh year at Hogwarts. And Scorpius could see why; the hate in his eyes was not just simmering, it was _boiling_ over already. Cedric had been laughed at, ridiculed and mocked by people he had once been friends with. He had seen a boy younger than him beat him at every turn, a boy who was already famous for nothing else other than _growing up._

Scorpius put on his best smile. No matter how much he wanted to smirk at the situation – Cedric may have been one of their own, but that didn’t mean he was _nice_ – he knew that wouldn’t help. So, in his friendliest voice, one he hadn’t dragged out since September, while he was explaining to the small amount of wide-eyed eleven year olds that had stumbled through the great hall, he greeted Cedric. ‘I’m not here to laugh.’ He said, sauntering over and sitting on the bench opposite Cedric. ‘I’m here to help.’

‘And why would you want to do that?’

 _Because I’m from the future and bored_. That probably wouldn’t get Cedric onboard with anything else Scorpius said. Nor would _because I can_. ‘Because I would rather you win than the child from your school.’ Scorpius sniffed. ‘This is meant to be a competition between wizards, and he is hardly one.’

‘If he’s not one, I’m even less.’ Cedric laughed, a hollow sound. How low did someone have to get to sound so empty? Scorpius couldn’t imagine it; he had always been raised high. As a child it had been by his mother – she had never let him feel less than he was. And then it was by other students at school. They were the stepping stones to his greatness. Cedric’s stepping stones descended.

‘Then prove you are more.’ _Now_ Scorpius smirked, leaning forwards, his elbows on his knees as he stared the other boy down. ‘You go into this task with this attitude and you will lose. Go in and make sure you win. Use that anger for what it was made for.’

‘They have the head start.’

‘And you have a brain.’ Questionable. ‘Use it. If you don’t think you can do it alone, find one of the other champions and pretend to be helping them. As long as that _child_ doesn’t win.’

‘But-‘

Merlin’s beard, this was why Scorpius didn’t bother with things like _persuasion_. Talking people around to your way of thinking was long winded and mostly pointless. Too many questions and too much panicking. Things would be so much easier if people just did what they were told to.

‘Or,’ Scorpius spoke over him. ‘Why don’t you humiliate Potter. Help him. Get him to trust you so you get to the centre together, grab the cup together but when you come out, swear he lied, cheated. Ruin him.’

A light lit up in Cedric’s eyes, and Scorpius’ smirk widened. He had him. That was Cedric’s downfall; he had been humiliated and become the laughing stock. He would do anything to make it happen to someone else. Scorpius stood and mockingly bowed to him. ‘Think on it.’ He said, strolling out of the tent and away from the pitch. He wouldn’t stay – he didn’t want to watch a giant hedge for hours with mudbloods and traitors and all sorts of things mixed in. He had been there long enough.

So he pulled the time turner from his pocket and started spinning it, steadying himself as the world around him started to spin. He started to laugh as the world around him changed; he had a time turner than went back years, and oh, he was already imagining the havoc he could wreck.


	7. Chapter 7

'Scorp!'

Scorpius was disoriented as he slipped back into the present. He could hear someone calling him, seemingly far away, but he ignored it. The temperature had dropped from the summer heat, the only thing keeping him from shivering the thick red cloak wrapped around him. But he couldn't keep it on; that would raise questions he couldn't answer without admitting to what he had, and he wanted the time turner to be a secret for a while longer. So he pulled the cloak off, ignoring the waves of dizziness as he moved, and threw it into the trees behind him.

Something was nagging at him. Something that didn't feel right. He looked around, but other than the person who had called out to him - who was too far away to see - there was no one else around. He was back at Hogwarts. Maybe _wrongness_ was just a side effect of time travel.

'There you are, Scorp. I've been looking everywhere.'

He bristled at the nickname. One hr had never let anyone use. If someone attempted it, he was always quick to beat them down.

Sometimes literally. So he opened his mouth to say something, assuming it was a younger student, ordered out by Avery to find him. The fact they were _shouting_ at him said they didn’t know who they were calling. What they would face when they actually turned up.

But the figure got closer, and Scorpius lost what he was about to say. He shook his head, rubbing his eyes. Then stared.

Scorpius had only ever been speechless once in his life. On the day of his mother's funeral, while his father was stood by his side. He had watched the tears fall down his father's face and watched his father do nothing about them. He had watched his father place his mother's wand on the top of the coffin next to a single yellow flower and Scorpius had not know what to say. How to comfort his father or how to comfort himself.

It was funny, how he had a whole school at his feet, yet on that day, he had felt terribly, awfully alone.

But he was lost for words for a different reason now. The boy before him was someone he didn't know, but someone who had too much of a likeness of a face Scorpius knew well. It stared out at them from the books about their enemies, the villain that wanted to kill the Dark Lord and change everything.

But it wasn't right. The uniform was wrong; Scorpius' uniform was dark and intimidating, flashes of green around the seams. The boy before him was wearing something akin to the past, so much so that Scorpius would have said he was still there, if the boy didn't know his name. And if he wasn't wearing a green tie.

'Scorpius, are you okay?' The boy said, taking a step forward.

Scorpius pulled out his wand. The boy froze. 'Stay away from me.' Wrong. This was all wrong, and Scorpius didn’t know what to do. ‘Who are you?’

‘Are you okay?’

‘ _Tell me your name_.’

‘Scorp… It’s me. You know. Albus Severus, failure of my fathers name and the Slytherin Potter. _Your_ best friend?’

The boy - _Albus_ \- took a step towards him. Scorpius took a large step back, still pointing his wand at Albus' chest. This had to be a joke. A joke at his expense where the prankster didn't realise who he was dealing with. And when Scorpius found out... After this, what he would do to a blood traitor would look almost nice.

'Potter is a dead name.' Scorpius snarled. 'It died out with Harry Potter at the Battle of Hogwarts. Everyone knows that.' The boy shook his head, a huff of laugher escaping. No one laughed at Scorpius Malfoy. _No one._ 'You dare-'

'I think you've been cursed, Scorp. Unsurprisingly. Just... Come on. I'll take you to McGonagall, she'll sort it out. Again.'

_Another_ name that should have died over twenty years ago. 

For the first time in his life, Scorpius well and truly had no idea what to do. He was a King. He was never out of his depth. He always had words and actions and ideas that no one else could stop. But now... He had caused this. Somehow, his tiny action in the past had rippled forwards and changed everything he knew into something bad. He had changed the future and caused Potter to win.

He took another step away. 'Don't follow me.' he ordered the boy. Albus only stared at him, and Scorpius wondered if his own expression was as wildly confused. He didn't care though. This was a _Potter_. He couldn't be seen with one. He couldn't talk to one. Merlin's beard, the boy thought they were _friends_.

Scorpius couldn't stay at the school. He didn't want to see what else had happened. Who else would be free, alive when they should have been dead. So he turned, and did what his father had always told him not to do, what he had never done a single time in his life. He fled.

Down the side of the forest, away from the school, and out of the giant iron gates. He could hear someone calling him back. He ignored it; he was the Scorpion King and he did as he liked and at that moment he lived very much the idea of not being there.

He didn't stop running until he was at the small village that looked over the school. He was out of breath, but he thanked the weekly Muggle hunts with his fellow students for keeping him at least vaguely fit. Muggles, after all, couldn't outrun many spells.

But even Hogsmeade was different. _His_ Hogsmeade was barely a village anymore. Too many shopkeepers packed up and disappeared. Too many of them that supported the wrong side. But here, Honeydukes was still up and running. The Hogs Head was still there; it looked rickety and unkempt, but it was more than the boarded up ruin that Scorpius knew. Rumour had it that it had been run by Dumbledore’s brother, who had been the one to sneak the good side into the war. As Scorpius knew it, he had been the cause of most of their deaths, and both sides wanted his head.

But here… Scorpius didn’t know.

He didn’t think he wanted to know. Not everything.

He rushed to the post office, throwing open the door and storming in. He was thankful for the similarities to the place he knew; owls all sizes lined the walls and small rolls of parchment were still for sale on the till. He realised with a strange jolt that the stern-faced witch behind it was the same one from his own future. She looked a little less strict in this one, the lines on her face not as deeply marked, the shadow of a smile she may once have worn still hovering behind her scowl. But still, she was there. He had changed so many things, yet some things were always the same.

He only hoped that the one person he wanted – _needed_ – to talk to would still be out there, somewhere. She had been born before the war, hidden away before anyone on the opposite side could have found her, but while she had been given the wizarding world and all the power in _his_ future, Scorpius had no idea where she would be in this one. He could only hope; an emotion that Scorpius was almost unfamiliar with. Scorpius never needed to hope, not when he had everything he could wish for. Almost everything.  
He slammed some money down on the desk and grabbed the parchment, scrawling out a note and signing it. He walked up and down the row of birds, glaring at them all as they stared back. This wasn’t the owls fault, but Scorpius couldn’t take his mood out on anyone else without sounding, well, like he supported the very man that these people despised. He put the letter in the largest owls bag and watched it as it shook it’s feathers out and took off through the open window at the top of the shop.

The woman opened her mouth to say something – possibly to thank him – but Scorpius strode back out the shop before she could speak. The door rattled behind him.

He was thankful then that the uniform he wore was not like the one he had seen the boy wear. They had been the clear robes of Hogwarts, much like the ones his father wore in the few pictures he had seen, with the green tie and green lined robes. Scorpius looked more like he was wearing a suit any wizard might pick out – though he was still too young to really pull it off. But it helped him pass easily in the village; most people here knew the Hogwarts timetables, knew no student should be there at this time of day. If he was dressed as one of them, he would have been watched.

As it was, he blended into the background, able to slip through the village to the outskirts, where there was an old odd cave hidden between trees. He stepped inside it, but didn’t let his guard down. Instead, he took up pacing in the small space, tapping his wand against his hand as he did. Bright sparks occasionally lit up the end, but they were cold and harmless.

Time.

He should have thought about it more. He had messed with time. One thing he thought harmless and it had changed the entire world. Time was not a straight line. Time was an  
ocean and every action that happened was a ripple that spread out and out and out. Some ripples hit the ones from others, and the reactions from then changed too.

Scorpius hadn’t just made a ripple. He had created a storm in that ocean, making every action change until the water was no longer smooth, but raging and frothing and trying to find calm again.

He pulled the time turner from his pocket again, running his fingers over it. He should go back. Change everything back. But…

For starters, Scorpius didn’t know enough about time travel to say that would even work. He could make it worse. He could make a future where he didn’t exist. But secondly – and for Scorpius, the most important factor – was that he may have been out of his depth at the moment. But if there was a Potter. A child of the children that should have died… then they were alive. And he could watch them. He could know how they thought. And he could go back to his own time and work out where the survivors hid. And stop them for good.  
Scorpius started to smile. There was still a lot wrong; he didn’t want to go back to the school, not if it were full of traitors and halfbloods like a Potter. Not if it was full of mudbloods. But there was light in this darkness. And Scorpius knew better than anyone how to twist every problem to an advantage. 

He heard moment behind him and spun around, his wand at the ready. But he was only greeted with laughter, silver hair and a smile he knew well.

‘Getting into trouble, cuz?’ Delphi asked.


	8. Chapter 8

Scorpius almost smiled as she stepped towards him, but it was quickly wiped away from his face as he studied her. This wasn’t the Delphi he knew. Her hair was the same strange silver and her face still looked like a softer version of Bellatrix’s; she had always resembled her mother more than her father. But then, no one could really look like him when they have noses.

But this Delphi, this futures version of the girl he knew, she looked the same, but the air around her was different. _His_ Delphi acted like the sun was hers, and she was the one who told it to go down every day. She made the ground itself tremble at the thought of her. But his Delphi had grown up in a world that adored her. Her parents rule and she was next in line, and even Scorpius made sure never to forget his place around her. He loved her, she was family, and friend to him. But she was still more. 

This Delphi had her shoulders hunched, even has she smiled warmly at him. She trod as if the ground below her was glass, and it would break if she stepped too hard. And her every movement was slower than it should have been.

‘Delphi?’ he asked, carefully.

She raised an eyebrow at him, her lips tilting up into an unsure smile. ‘Are you alright, Scorp? Your letter… and this.’ She waved a hand at him. ‘You know you’re meant to be the normal one of the two of us, right? Bookworm, nerd, useless at magic. And quidditch…’

Is that what he was like in this future? The exact type of person he hated. The ones he used to step on when he needed to get higher. He scowled. ‘Did you bring what I asked for?’  
She reached into the tiny bag by her side and pulled out a few books, holding them out to him. He snatched them from her, sitting down on the floor and flicking through them, scanning the pages for what he needed to know. 

And with every page, the dread he felt built and built. It settled into the pit of his stomach like a weight pulling him down and he couldn’t dislodge it. Because he hadn’t just changed that single moment at the last task. His idea had worked; Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter had reached the centre of the maze together. And Potter, in an act of kindness that caused _everything_ else to spiral out of control, had told Diggory to win with him. Cedric Diggory had died, Voldemort not knowing that the boy would one day end up as one of his own, and, like a stone in a river, it had rippled out and ruined the right future.

In Scorpius’ time, Cedric had survived because he hadn’t tried in the task. He had grown bitter and angry and in that, he had turned on the people who had caused it all. Harry Potter and his two friends had been out of his reach. But Neville Longbottom, the boy ever loyal to Potter, had been in the war, and Cedric had gone after him, killing him only minutes into the Battle of Hogwarts. Minutes after that, Cedric had been knocked out by a giant and had miraculously survived. 

In this time, because Cedric had died in their fourth year, Neville Longbottom had survived and gone on to kill Voldemort’s faithful friend and _pet_ Nagini. That had weakened Voldemort so when he tried to kill Potter, he failed. Potter and his gang had survived, reopened the school to everyone as if they hadn’t learnt a thing from what Voldemort had tried to teach them. Voldemort’s most loyal and the ones that hadn’t given up were quickly rounded up and locked away, and the children and those that renounced what they knew were given a pardon.

‘This is all wrong.’ he muttered.

‘You know, you’re acting far stranger than normal, cuz.’ She took another step towards him. ‘Are you okay? Really?’

He couldn’t form words. Couldn’t find the right ones that would make him sounds sane. Make him _not_ be locked up like the many names he knew. Bellatrix had died in this future, killed by one of the many Weasleys. As had many others. But just as many had ended up back in Azkaban. 

Scorpius had grown up alongside all of their children. He knew their faces, their names, far more about them than he would ever admit. But here, none of them existed. They hadn’t even been given the chance to be an _idea_ of a person.

‘How?’ he choked out. ‘If this is what they did… how are you here?’

Delphi flinched. A subtle movement, but Scorpius had been trained to see every weakness in a person. ‘You know that.’ she said.

‘Just remind me.’

‘Scorp-‘

_Do it_ , he almost ordered. But he caught himself. He didn’t order _his_ Delphi around, and he didn’t think it would work on this one. ‘Please.’

‘They found me. In a raid. I was a baby. They guessed who I was.’ Shame flickered in his face and Scorpius wanted to scream at it. She shouldn’t feel _shame_ for who she was, she should be proud. And he wanted to break every person who had beaten the Delphi he knew out of this one. ‘McGonagall fought for me. Most people were all for throwing me in Azkaban to rot too, because of who I am. But she took me in and when Draco was ready, she introduced us. When you were born, they didn’t want me to know you.’ She let out a hollow laugh. ‘They thought I would _corrupt_ you. They still don’t trust me.’

Well, that explained her movements. Hunched over and slow and careful, Delphi had grown up here trying to prove to everyone that she wasn’t a threat. ‘How do we know each other?’

‘Have you been cursed – you’re really not yourself.’

‘Delphi.’

She sighed. ‘You demanded to meet me when you came to Hogwarts. Tiny, weedy thing, I was surprised you even had the guts to demand anything.’ He hated the version of him he was hearing about more and more with every minute. ‘Scorp, is this some sort of test? Am I proving that I’m really me or something?’

‘No.’ Though he wasn’t completely sure. ‘No, I just…’ He had to tell her. ‘No.’ Though he wasn’t completely sure. ‘No, I just...’ He had to tell her. This was _Delphi_. Even in a different future, she couldn’t be _that_ different. She still had her fathers power running through her veins. Still had the drop of whatever her mother was – it couldn’t really be called sanity – and no matter what they said to her in this world, there had to be a part of her that craved her real family. Especially if this is what they had done to her. ‘You’re not going to believe me.’

She laughed. ‘Scorpius, whatever is wrong, it can’t be that bad.’

‘What would you say if I told you that this,’ he waved a hand at the history books, ‘isn’t how the war ended?’

‘That you’ve been hit with a Confundus charm?’

‘No.’ He laughed. ‘Delphi... this isn’t right. This... it’s all a mistake. I can tell you what really happened. _Voldemort_ won the war. Your father won and we are a result. You aren’t like this. You are great and powerful and important.’

Delphi looked stricken; she took a step away from him, shaking her head. He was explaining everything wrong.

‘I changed everything.’ He pulled out the time turner and showed it to her, pulling it back as she reached out; there wasn’t a chance that he was giving it to anyone else. He was tempted to wipe her memory of it after this, just in case. ‘I went back in time and I made a mistake and now everything has changed. Delphi... we _won_. Harry Potter should be dead. Voldemort should be alive. I need... I have to change things back.’

‘No.’

‘What?’

‘You can’t.’ She shook her head. ‘Cuz, even if what you are saying is right – which is hard to believe when _we are standing here now_ \- this is better. Scorpius, he _murdered_ people.’

He was wrong. Delphi couldn’t help him; they had turned her into something pathetic. A _mudblood supporter._ The world had twisted and become topsy-turvy and Scorpius already couldn’t stand it.

And he had only seen two people so far.

‘You think these people didn’t?’ He waved a hand at the books again. ‘Delphini, _who do you think killed your parents_?’

‘They deserved it.’ A whisper as her eyes flickered up to meet his. ‘I’ve seen what they did, Scorpius. I’ve seen what everyone who followed my father did. If… if they had found a child of their enemy, would they have spared it? No. They would have killed it and laughed – my father tried to kill Harry Potter when he was a child. They wouldn’t have spared me. They killed students in the battle without a thought. They were cruel, Scorpius, and they deserved to die for it.’

‘They’ve twisted your mind! Can’t you see that, Delphi. These people you say saved you… they’ve _ruined_ you.’ He took a step towards her, and suddenly there was a wand pointed at him. ‘Delphi?’

‘I don’t know who you are, but you aren’t Scorpius. He’s… Scorp wouldn’t hurt a fly. So stay where you are.’

He laughed. He wasn’t scared of her. His Delphi, maybe, but this one – this was barely a shadow of the girl he knew. ‘You don’t know me anywhere near as you wish.’

Another step, and he saw fear in her eyes. Then, resolve. ‘Then I’m sorry. _Stupefy_.’

He was knocked off his feet, and he felt the impact down his back as he slammed into the cave wall and slid to the floor. He saw her approach, saw her peer down at him, confused and concerned, before she raised her wand again, and his vision went black.


	9. Chapter 9

Minerva McGonagall had an open door policy. From the moment she became headmistress, she had made it clear that no matter the time of day, students could go and talk to her.  
It was a throwback to when she was head of Gryffindor house. They had other teachers now, other heads that cared for the students just as much as she did. But it wasn’t the same.

Being headmistress, it wasn’t the same.

McGonagall didn’t have her own children. Delphi was hers, but not by birth. Hogwarts had been her family for so long, she could barely remember – or, rather, didn’t let herself remember- a time before. But she didn’t need another one, not when each student who walked through the doors became one of hers. Every single one of them mattered to her, though sometimes she was sure that they didn’t believe it. Back before the war, Slytherins would avoid her at all cost, even when she was them sinking into themselves. Looking back, she should have seen what it meant; children being forced to choose between their families or their friendships. She would never forgive herself for missing those hints, and she would never make that mistake again.

She took care with every student. She knew their names, their backgrounds, and she spent as much time as she could reminding many of them that the past, the mistakes of their parents or uncles or anyone else, wasn’t on them.

Just as she never blamed Delphi for who she was, she would never blame a child for the name they bore.

McGonagall just wished, sometimes, that she could have done _more_ to change what had happened. Sometimes, she didn’t think she had done enough. And sometimes, looking at the Great Hall, filled with so many faces that looked just like students that had been there before, she hated everything that war had done to them all.

The list of the dead was long in her head, every name a brand, every child someone who would never forgive her for not protecting them. But the living – the list of the living were more, but their scars reminded her every day of what they had lost.

She was sat in the chair behind the desk, writing a long letter as one of the faces of the past rushed into her office. It was probably one of the worse faces, because it not only reminded her of the older generation, but the one before that as well.

Albus Potter looked just like his father, though he lacked both the glasses and the lightning bolt scar. Every time McGonagall saw him – which was often, for she had been accepted into the fold of Harry Potters extended family, which meant the many Weasley’s had also started treating her like an odd aunt of some kind – she felt two things. Regret, for what had happed to his father. And to his grandparents. And she felt relief of what Albus represented. A new generation that _Harry Potter_ had fought for them all to have.

It was strange, that out of Harry’s three children, it was Albus who had not only been given Lily Potter’s bright green eyes, but her temperament. So many of the dead lived on in their children, and Lily Potter was well and truly alive in Albus.

‘Professor.’ He gasped, holding his hands to his sides as he tried to find his breath. ‘There’s a problem.’

She stood so quickly that she knocked the ink pot over, spilling all over her carefully crafted letter. She didn’t care though; Albus was, strangely, one of her quieter, more serious students. He still got in trouble – you couldn’t have a Malfoy _and_ a Potter in the same school it seemed, without that trouble, but he was not one prone to lying. He kept his head low as if hoping the world would forget he was ever there. ‘What?’

‘Scorpius.’

How strange the world was, McGonagall thought. How two children could grow up hating each other only to find themselves friends in adulthood, drawn together because their own children had found friendship in each other. She would never have guessed that would have happened. But she was glad it had – and proud of the two students, had so much on their shoulders, who had learnt to share it with each other.

Though in every bad scenario she had ever thought of, it was Scorpius running to get her while Albus was missing. Albus was, after all, a Potter, and there were still those out in the wizarding world who hated his father for killing Voldemort.

‘I need more information that that, Potter.’

‘He’s _wrong_.’ Albus shook his head. ‘Professor, I don’t know what’s happened but he’s not acting like Scorpius. He looked at me like he didn’t know me. He said that it was a dead name. Potter, I mean. He acted as if I shouldn’t have been _alive_. And then he just... ran off.’ That was worrying; in their five years at the school, McGonagall didn’t think the pair had had a single argument or fight. ‘It wasn’t just that, though. He wasn’t wearing uniform. He looked...’

‘Do you think he’s been cursed, Potter?’

‘That’s the only explanation. It has to be.’

There were many explanations to things, she knew. Sometimes, curses were the worst thing. Sometimes, they were the best case. ‘Professor Dumbledore.’ she said, turning to the giant picture frame behind her desk. The old headmaster looked back at her over his glasses. ‘Can you go and get Harry and Draco for me.’

‘You don’t need to get my dad.’ Albus muttered, with just enough venom that McGonagall knew something was wrong. Now was not the time for _that_ question though.

‘He’s an auror.’ she said instead. ‘We may need him.’

Dumbledore walked out the side of the frame as Albus scowled and took up pacing. He was muttering to himself; McGonagall caught the words _of course_ and _need_ and _great_ before she tuned him out. She had spoken at length with Harry about his family, knew there were problems between Albus and his father. Neither listened to the other, both hated that the other was too different from themselves. What Harry couldn’t see was that Albus lived in a shadow, and that while he loved his Hogwarts House, it was that very house that made the bullies worse. What Albus couldn’t see was that his father never _wanted_ the fame he had, that he too wished he could sometimes disappear. But Harry had grown up and learnt to live with it, Albus had grown up and learnt to resent it.

The door that had closed behind Albus was thrown open once more. McGonagall, knowing that both parents would not bother walking through the door when floo powder was quicker, spun around, only to find Delphi striding in, chewing her lip. Behind her, suspended in midair and floating eerily, was the boy in question.

‘What happened?’ McGonagall asked sharply.

‘Scorp’s lost his mind.’ Delphi waved her wand and everything on McGonagall’s desk flew away as Scorpius floated towards it and landed. ‘Merlin’s Beard. Minnie,’ McGonagall had never been _mother_ to Delphi. Though the girls birth parents had been evil and on another side of the war, McGonagall couldn’t bare to raise her wiping that part out. And while McGonagall was strict and sometimes harsh, and while even other teachers only knew her as _Minerva_ , and while she would never admit how much it meant to her that the girl she took in loved her enough to keep her childhood nickname, from when she was too young to get her tongue around McGonagall’s name. And she would never admit the fact she wanted to smile every time she heard an old student of hers pick up the name either. ‘He thinks Voldemort won the war.’ A pause. ‘Oh, and he also had this.’

Delphi fished something out of her pocket, throwing it at McGonagall. The headmistress looked at it, her eyes widening in shock as she glanced at Delphi, then to the boy on the table. ‘They should have all been destroyed.’

‘Don’t say that, Minnie.’ Delphi whispered. ‘Because that means-‘

‘He was telling the truth.’

‘Professor?’ Albus said. Delphi jumped and McGonagall blinked, mentally shaking her head. The girl had always been like it – so interested in what she was doing, she would never notice anything going on around her. ‘What’s going on?’

‘They are coming.’ Dumbledore said, appearing once more in his frame.

McGonagall looked to each face in her room. These were her children. Hers to protect no matter what happened. Delphi, she protected from their history, and the people that still wanted revenge. Albus, from the shadow of fame and everything he didn’t want. Scorpius, from the shame of his name and what it meant, even long after his father had chosen them. But Harry and Draco too – they were still hers, just like every other ex student. And she had to protect them from their own hearts. 

She pointed at Delphi, then Albus. ‘Don’t say a word.’ She ordered, striding towards the bookcase and hiding the time turner behind a large volume. ‘We figure this out before we say anything. Draco Malfoy has lost enough without us telling him he has also lost the son he knows.’

She finished talking just in time; with a sharp hiss and small explosion of flames, Harry Potter climbed out of the fireplace, dusting the ash off his suit as, seconds later, Draco Malfoy followed him.

McGonagall had watched them both age. One from a quiet, too thin boy, to father and head auror, and the other from entitled and judgmental to father and ally. But it always shocked her, somewhat, when she saw them now, both with wrinkles starting for form around their eyes and their hair starting to pale. She strangely, sometimes thought they would appear in front of her young again, before the scars of war and death settled on both their skin and eyes.

Draco was the first to move. His eyes narrowed on his son, he strode towards the table, brushing back Scorpius’ blond hair with a hand so gentle that McGonagall’s heart constricted. Draco was the kind of father who would fight to the death to protect his son, and the Scorpius that McGonagall knew didn’t even know that. He knew his father loved him, but there were times Draco could barely look at the boy or find the words to talk to him.

But Scorpius was the last of his family; both Draco's parents had died when Scorpius was young, and by that point, Draco barely spoke to them anyway. They never let the man forget how disappointed they were in him and his protection of his wife. Despite that, the Malfoy family had been raised with the world _survival_ branded into their minds. His parents had proven that many years ago, when they would rather have protected him than fight for Voldemort. And so Draco had loved them and grieved for them almost as much as he had for his wife, and Scorpius – Scorpius was all Draco had left of them all, and the man was terrified that one day, he would lose Scorpius too.

‘What did you do to him?’ Draco levelled his stare on Delphi, who took a step back, holding her hands in the air. Thankfully, she had already been quick enough to hide her wand somewhere, though McGonagall didn’t miss the flash of pain in her eyes.

‘Nothing.’ Delphi said. ‘He was cursed. Or something. I don’t know. I had to stop him.’

‘So you knocked him out?’

‘I made him _sleep_. You think I would hurt him?’

‘Like father like-‘

‘Enough.’ Mcgonagall’s voice was quiet, but Draco fell silent, a scowl on his face. He had never trusted Delphi, no matter how hard she tried to prove herself, and McGonagall knew it broke the girls heart every time it showed. Scorpius had accepted her, and Draco had to live with that, but he didn’t like it. McGonagall had tried too many times to know nothing would ever change. She saw Delphi as her own. Draco saw her as the child who had ruined his own childhood. ‘Draco, I brought you here because I thought you should know something has happened to your son. But whoever it was that did this-‘ she didn’t want to admit it was, possibly, the very boy who had done it, ‘is still out there somewhere and we don’t know _what_ is going on or _why_. But whoever it was has convinced Scorpius that we are all his enemies. An old follower of Voldemort, maybe. We need to find him.’

‘I’ll see if the ministry can do anything.’ Harry said.

Draco snorted. ‘Another excuse to search through my family home, old man?’

‘Do you want my help or not?’

A pause as they stared at each other, both unflinching. Once, McGonagall would never have thought them able to stand in the same room without throwing insults – or curses – at each other, but they were different now. And that was proven when, despite his worry, Draco’s lips curved up slightly and he stuck out his hand.

‘We’ll see what we can do.’ Draco said to McGonagall. ‘What are you going to do for now?’

‘He is a student. No matter what has happened, he is one of mine, Draco. We will keep him in the hospital wing until we know he is safe.’

A nod, a final glance at his son. ‘Keep him safe, Minerva.’ Draco left.

Harry looked at his own son for a second, but Albus looked away. McGonagall wondered what would happen if the two sets of fathers actually _spoke_ to their sons. Reminded them who they were and how much they were loved. But one was convinced that he was still paying for the crimes of his past and the other was too scared that he saw too much of himself in his son, and both ended up pushing each other away.

Harry left seconds later, and Delphi rolled her eyes, walking back over to the table and waving her wand. She left the room without another glance; McGonagall wanted to call her back, but there was nothing she could say that would help. So instead, she looked at Albus.

‘Why didn’t you tell them?’ He asked.

There were so many reasons. Fear – because by saying something, it made it real. Because it meant it could happen again. Because then Scorpius would be taken away from them, and even a Scorpius who didn’t know who they were was better for Albus than having no one at the school. But she couldn’t explain everything to the boy. She couldn’t tell him that his parents were not the only ones that suffered from the fear of evil coming back to them. ‘Because he needs us.’ She said instead. ‘But Potter?’

‘Professor?’

‘Be careful. Malfoy may look like the boy you know, but if we are right, then he will be nothing like your friend.’


	10. Chapter 10

Scorpius came awake in a bright and unfamiliar room. His vision came back into focus bit by bit, things around him sharpening so he could make out a row of beds beside him, light streaming in from giant windows. A cough sounded, and he twisted to the sound, only to find a boy sat at the bottom of his bed, leaning against the frame as his legs were stretched out beside Scorpius.

Scorpius shot up, groaning as his head complained; he felt as if every bludger in the world had flown into his skull.

‘Here.’ The boy said, tossing a small potion at him. ‘Pomfrey said it would help.’ 

Memories came back to Scorpius in a flash; helped by the name of a woman who was meant to be dead. He sat up further, narrowing his eyes at the boy – _Albus Potter_ \- as he let the small bottle drop from his fingers. Albus watched as it smashed on the floor.

‘Or you can do that, I guess.’ He said.

‘What do you want?’

Albus raised an eyebrow, and Scorpius was struck – again – by how much he looked like his father. While most of their past was seen as irrelevant and while History of Magic had been cancelled at school, there were some parts of the past that couldn’t be wiped away. And some parts that the Dark Lord wanted to be shown. Like that of Potter, the boy who tried to fight him and an example of what happens to those that do. Scorpius had seen the old wanted posters of him enough times to be able to trace that face by memory. _Undesirable No 1_ , they called him. Before that, he had been _The Boy Who Lived_ but with that title, he had only shown one thing. All things that live do, eventually, die, being just as mortal as anything else.

‘Mainly, I want my friend back. Unfortunately, though, it seems he was never actually real, not if the present you know is proper one. So I’m stuck with you. Other than that, I want not to be the laughing stock of this school. Or not related to my father, take your pick.’ Albus let out a breath and Scorpius smirked. No one had ever taught this child anything important. You should never give enemies your weaknesses. ‘What do _you_ want?’

‘To have the rightful world restored and for all traitors like you to have your end.’

‘A bundle of joy, there, Scorpius. I think I like _my_ one better.’

‘The Scorpius from this present is no one.’ A sneer. ‘And if he has befriended you, he is even less.’

‘You don’t even know me.’

‘You’re a _Potter_.’

‘Judgemental.’ Albus crossed his feet and arms at the same time. On anyone else, Scorpius would have said it was anger, but there was a glimmer of amusement in the other boys eyes. _Amusement_. At _him_. ‘I would be insulted if I wasn’t so used to it from other people. _You’re a Potter_.’ There was bitterness in his voice as he mocked what clearly other people had said to him. ‘ _Pathetic Potter, can’t even cast a spell. Pathetic Potter. Potter. Are you even sure you’re related to Harry Potter?_ ’ He laughed. ‘So really, there’s nothing you can say that will make things worse, so you might as well give up.’

‘Why waste words on a _traitor_ when I can-‘ His hand went to his pocket, ready to pull out his wand. But it wasn’t there. Scorpius looked around, patting down the bed and opening the small drawer next to the bed. 

Albus chuckled. ‘Here’s the deal,’ he said, ‘McGonagall wants to keep an eye on you, so you’re staying at Hogwarts. However, you’re wandless, and watched at all times.’

‘You’ve already admitted you’re useless at spells. You think you can hold me here?’

‘We have the time turner.’ Albus didn’t smirk, but he looked like he wanted to, and Scorpius wanted to snatch the boys wand from him and carve that look of satisfaction, of joy, of his face with every painful spell he knew. Because Scorpius understood it; why the hairs on the back of his neck where standing on end. Why the room was empty beside the two of them. The room wasn’t _empty_. They were being watched – he guessed by Pomfrey – and there was no one else because they didn’t trust him. The first good idea they had had, not trusting him. ‘You can’t leave, you can’t do magic… I guess you’re going to have to deal with us and learn some manners.’

‘Get out.’

‘Those aren’t manners.’

Carving his face off was getting more tempting by the second. ‘Get. Out.’

Albus shrugged, jumping off the bed and walking to the door. He paused before he opened it, looking back at Scorpius with a look on his face Scorpius didn’t understand. ‘You’re really going to hate this, but… Scorp, you’re going to need me. This Hogwarts isn’t the place you know.’ As if that wasn’t obvious. ‘You think I was complaining about my life, just wait until you walk out these doors and see your own.’

He left, and Scorpius waited a moment to see if someone else was going to walk in before he moved. He groaned as he turned and put his feet on the floor; every movement made his head pound. But he had had worse. Even he was not immune to the lessons his Hogwarts taught, and at eleven, he had been no one. Nothing more than another loyal child. His title and name had not been etched into their present yet. 

Traitors and mudbloods had not been brought into the school until his third year, when he suggested it. He wasn’t doing it for the good of his classmates. Though the memories of pain in his first year from their Dark Arts lessons were ingrained in him forever, he didn’t really care about that either. No. He had only suggested it because anyone can learn the theory of spellwork. Anyone can aim a wand and point. But there is a difference between saying a spell and _meaning_ it. 

And it was far easier to find mudblood lovers if they were pointing their wands at one. Anyone could curse a friend, that was easy. But cursing someone you pitied? Their hands would shake and their eyes would water and their voices would be whispers if they even managed to say anything.

So Scorpius knew pain. He just didn’t care about it. Not when there was always something more important to do.

He hobbled over to the window, peering out. They were high up – too high up for him to jump out even if he could. But he couldn’t help letting his eyes wander anyway, darting from roof to roof to see if there was any way he could get away. He was brave enough – or stupid, he guessed – and he refused to be a _prisoner_ for these people. Oh, they hadn’t locked him up like he would have done, but he knew enough to know that the school had become a cell and every student and teacher his guard. 

He laughed. They looked at him and saw a child, they didn’t see what he really was. His father had been a death eater, his grandfather. His grandmother and great aunt and everyone else he could name in his family. And he had been raised by all of them. He was loyal to the Dark Lord, and these people just saw him as a _child_.

He made his way to the door, putting his ear against it. He could hear laughter and voices and _life_ outside the doors. His Hogwarts was never this loud. Oh there was the laughter and the friendships still, and the screams that made their background music. But there were many more voices here. He sneered. This Hogwarts took in whoever they could find; that was clear by the fact there was a _Potter_ here. A half-blood. Which would, maybe, have been acceptable, if not for who his father was. 

Scorpius dreaded to find out who his mother was. 

When the noise from outside had dulled down, Scorpius turned the handle, opening the door and going to step out.

‘What are you doing out of bed?’ A voice demanded.

He sighed, wondering if he could make a break for it. But he wasn’t _that_ stupid. So he turned, smiling up and the stern-faced woman behind him. Her hair wasn’t grey, it was as white as snow, and her skin looked like parchment. This woman was old – but then, she had been around when his father had been at Hogwarts, so who knew her age now – but that didn’t mean anything. He may have been able to outrun her, but his head was still hurting and she had a wand. 

‘You must be Pomfrey.’ He said, warmly enough that she knew it wasn’t him being nice.

Her face didn’t change, though, and he had to give her credit. But then, who knew what she got through these doors in her time here. He wondered what she would do if she told him about the Hogwarts he knew. If her face would break from that stony expression if he told her she was dead in the world he knew. Dead or missing, and really, they were both the same thing. And that any child who couldn’t look after themselves by the second year were left behind.

‘Madam Pomfrey to you, Malfoy.’ She said. ‘Now back into that bed.’

‘You know I’m fine, _Pomfrey_? I was knocked out, I didn’t lose all the bones in my body.’

She didn’t even blink. ‘Close the door, Malfoy.’

He ground his teeth together, but did as ordered. It was better to make them think him safe, think him too scared to do anything. But he would wait and watch and every one of them would be told why those that know him don’t upset the Scorpion King. 

He climbed back onto the bed and crossed his arms, staring Pomfrey down as she handed him another small vial of potion. This time, he took it, letting the numbness wash over him. He could feel her eyes on him long after she walked back into her office, and Scorpius knew something would have to change. He refused to be trapped in this room forever. They had to let him free soon, and then he would hunt.

The Wizarding world always forgot one thing. They were so dependent on magic they forgot that you could just as easily hurt someone without a wand. And this world, it was so full of traitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I've been putting up two chapters a week so far, but that may have to go down to one as I haven't had time to keep on top of writing it....


	11. Chapter 11

If there was one reliable thing about Hogwarts, it was that a secret was never a secret for long. Whispers flew through the corridors as if propelled by magic, and within hours of anything happening, every person in the school knew, maybe not the whole story, but at least what it meant.

So Scorpius wasn’t surprised when the hospital wing started getting more and more notice. At first, it was small amounts. Students coming in with stupid injuries they could have sorted out themselves, staring at him with mistrust in their eyes. And other emotions Scorpius couldn’t quite understand. Satisfaction. Glee. But he didn’t understand _why_.

Pomfrey would usher them in, fix them up and almost push them out the door within minutes, barely even letting them talk. Scorpius watched with a smirk on his face – what did they think he was going to do? Corrupt them all? Convince these children that were not even worth his time that they and their parents had picked the wrong side?

Well, he would have done. If he thought they mattered. But as soon as he got back to his time, the _real_ present, none of them would even exist. It wasn’t worth it.

But more and more students started to arrive. It took less that twenty-four hours, until they lost patience and stopped even bothering to hurt themselves. Pomfrey tried to stop it, but the older students, the braver – or, more stupid – pushed through, and Scorpius found himself facing people that thought they knew him.

And ones he thought he knew too.

It was part way through his second night in there that it became _real_ to him. That he was there. Possibly trapped. He had been drifting in and out of sleep – it was impossible to really sleep when even the ghosts were floating in and out of the room – when the door opened and a girl slipped into the hospital wing. Other than the glow from the always-burning candles, the room was dark, but Scorpius could make out her hand as she tucked her hair behind her ear. As she neared him, he raised an eyebrow.

‘Avery?’

It had to be her. It looked just like her, from the hair down to the movements right down to the fact she had a book tucked under her arm. But her strides were harsher as she approached the bed. And her tie was the wrong colour. The scowl on her face not the one he was used to, that told him he was interrupting her reading once again, but one of _hate_.

The girl snorted. ‘Added to the list of wrong things I’ve heard today, a name of a death eater family. If this is your idea of a joke-‘

Definitely not the girl he knew. 

His Avery was all sharp mind and wit, her temper controlled tightly despite how much she argued with him. She was a ball of fire wrapped tightly in ice, waiting for her moment to strike. She didn’t _like_ who she was – Scorpius had always known that and had ruthlessly used it against her every time he could – but she accepted it. Most of the time.  
This girl looked like her, her voice sounded just the same, but while he angered Avery daily, there was never true hate in her voice. This girl radiated it, aimed at him. He didn’t understand it. Not until she threw a book down at his feet and glowered at him.

‘Look at it.’ An order that made him bristle. But he picked it up anyway, flicking through it until he got to a page where a small picture fell out. ‘The teachers are saying you’re cursed. Or confused. You think we’re the bad guys.’ She looked to be one step away from spitting on him in her anger; is she did that, wand or no wand, Scorpius would kill her. ‘Those are the names of everyone we lost in the battle of Hogwarts. My mother lost her sister. My father watched his best friend die. They were _children_. The same age as us, and they were killed by the people you think were right.’

He looked at the list. Names of people he didn’t know, couldn’t care about – even if he saw their faces, he wouldn’t have been able to make himself care. Not when, to him, these were the people that killed, or tried to kill his own family.

Though one thing was clear. This list of names far outweighed the ones that he knew about.

‘What’s your name?’ He asked the girl.

She scowled. ‘You’re joking, right?’

Could no one in this place answer a direct question? ‘Do I look like it? Name.’

‘Roxy.’ Scorpius didn’t believe in coincidences. Even less so when she ground out ‘Abbott.’

He stared at her. Time rippled out and changed everything. Maybe not faces, or names. But the people behind them, the results and who they became. Avery’s mother, in his world, was an Abbott. A half-blood, but still loyal to them. She had married into the Avery family and taken their name, just like her children had.

In one action, Scorpius had changed all that, erased the girl he knew and the family he knew and created something else.

He looked back down at the page, staring at the names on them.

In the time he knew, Voldemort had kept his word. If Harry Potter gave himself up, the fighting would stop. Only those that carried on fighting long after they lost had been hunted and silenced – people like the Weasleys and Granger. They had taken Hogwarts and the Wizarding World with deaths on both sides.

But not as many as this. 

‘You blame us,’ he said, running his hand down the page, past the name _Creevey_ and _Brown_ and _Lupin_ , ‘Yet are these deaths not on the hands of the person you all adore? They all died for Harry Potter. You should hate him.’

‘He saved us all from people like _you_.’ She let out a bitter laugh. ‘My mothers generation is riddled with scars. I still hear her wake up some nights, calling out names of people she saw get hurt or die. James told me once that as a child, he didn’t get why his father jumped at every loud sound. Our own Minister warded her house until her children were ready to come to Hogwarts because she was so scared that someone would come back and ruin the peace. Voldemort did that to them. And that…’ She took a breath, ‘that is just one generation. Did you know that Harry Potters own generation at school was one of the smallest because _there was war before that_. So many of us will never know our grandparents because of _yours_.’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘You think you are all high and mighty, Malfoy. Because you think Voldemort was better than we are. But what should any of us expect from someone from your family? They swapped sides the second they knew they were not winning. You’re all as slippery and awful as each other.’ She took a step away from him and made to leave before she changed her mind, turning back. ‘We all have a way to make up for the past now. You… children of death eaters weren’t punished. Many of them even came back to fight by their friends sides. _Against_ their parents. We have a way to keep that going. I don’t trust you, Malfoy, I don’t trust your family, but I would fight to protect this school by your side if it ever came to it. You just have to realise that we won. We were the good ones. Every name in that book was someone who gave up their lives for the world we live in and for _peace._ ’ She shook her head, storming out of the room.

The door slammed behind her and Scorpius looked up, wondering why Pomfrey hadn’t come down. She and half the school must have heard that – but maybe that was the point. How many of them wanted to say something to him? And he had only been there a day. They didn’t even know him.

He was the Scorpion King. They could shout at him and threaten him and try to make him feel guilt as much as they wanted, it would never work. He was the Scorpion King and once he learnt how Granger thought, once he destroyed their _peace_ here, he would find the time turner and make everything right again. Because this place – even just the hospital wing – was a hell much worse than the Hogwarts he had helped make perfect.


	12. Chapter 12

They couldn’t keep him hidden forever, and a long week after he woke up in the hospital wing, they let Scorpius free. He left with a smirk on his face, striding out into the corridor as if he owned it. In another world, he did. He didn’t think it made much difference that in this one, a different set of people were kings.

They could try and steal his crown. But it wouldn’t last. 

It was clear, here, that the Gryffindors were royalty. Scorpius watched them as they moved. Their noses upturned even as they spoke to friends in other houses. They travelled in small packs, the red bright and harsh against the backdrop of the uniform, their laughs louder than anyone else.

Scorpius knew why. In his world, he was king, because they had _won_. His father and grandfather and everyone else had stood by the Dark Lord’s side as he broke the people who tried to stop him. In this world, their Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived and his friends had won, and they were all Gryffindor’s.

Scorpius’ mother had told many stories of Hogwarts before. Mainly, stories his father had told her, of what it was like to be a Slytherin in a world where Harry Potter existed. It was harsh; Slytherin’s had always been prideful of who and what they were, yet every other house looked down at them. Potter and his friends had helped in that – in their eyes, Slytherin meant _bad guys_ no matter who tried to help them.

And nothing – _nothing_ \- had changed. Scorpius watched it from the sidelines as he walked through the school. Slytherins who averted their eyes as the loud Gryffindors, who kept their heads down as others walked past them.

Scorpius was used to that behaviour. It was what he expected from those that were not good enough, those that were _less_ than him. But he didn’t expect to be lumped into that group. He didn’t expect faces he thought he knew doing the same.

For one, small, sharp second, Scorpius felt something strange. _Sympathy_. Pity. Sorrow, then anger as he wanted to walk up to the Gryffindors and put them in their places.  
But then he heard louder laughter, and he turned to watch through a doorway as two Gryffindors and a Ravenclaw cornered someone. Scorpius saw a flash of green and he had stepped forward before he realised it. Before he realised who it was. 

A sight of dark messy hair. Scorpius had only seen the other boy a few times, but it didn’t matter, not when he looked so much like the boy on so many old _wanted_ signs.

Albus Potter.

Albus Potter, cornered by three students who were all sniggering. Scorpius took another step, leading him into the room, and between two of their shoulders, bright green eyes flashed up and met his.

‘The Slytherin squib.’ The Ravenclaw said. ‘Can’t even protect himself from a first year spell.’

More laughter, and Scoprius noticed she was clutching a wand in each hand. Those eyes had been pleading with him, asking him to help – how many times had this happened to the boy? How many times had this worlds Scorpius jumped in, or protected Potter? It didn’t matter. Not when _this_ Scorpius didn’t care. Instead of helping, he leant against the wall silently and watched things play out.

The two Gryffindor’s were whispering, though from the stiff set of Albus’ shoulders, he could hear every word. It was only when one piped up with a ‘I think we have the proof he’s not _really_ a Potter. We have his brother and sister, after all. Only _bad_ wizards end up in Slytherin.’

Well, Scorpius thought, at least his stay here was going to be interesting. For it wasn’t just his house that was looked down on, but students would even hurt their beloved Harry Potter’s son.

Another whisper at Albus, then the boy ground out a harsh ‘stop it.’ Only more laughter answered him, the Ravenclaw jumping away as he tried to grab his wand away. Scorpius would have felt worse for the boy. If not for who he was.

So he stepped forwards, coughing to bring their attention to him. The Ravenclaw didn’t move quick enough; Scorpius darted forward and claimed the wand in her left hand, the one he assumed was Albus’. He felt three sets of eyes glaring at him as he smirked, spinning the wand around his fingers as he paced from one end of the classroom to the other. He heard Albus breathe a sigh of relief. Stupidly. Because he wasn’t here to help a Potter, he was here to make sure these three knew _never_ to mess with the greatest and _purest_ house. And since they had taken his wand from him, he thought it only right that he claimed a Potter’s wand in return.

‘I’m only going to say this once.’ He said, his voice the one of a king who had never been told no. ‘You do not attack anyone of my house. You tell your friends to stay away. If not…’ he shrugged, still spinning the wand around his fingers, ‘you will learn pretty quickly that I would rather curse you first and ask questions later.’

A quiet pause. Then, laughter, one of the Gryffindors stepping forward.

‘You and whose army, Malfoy?’ Scorpius was tempted to curse him for that. ‘Bravery doesn’t suit you, _Death Eater_. Go back and hide behind your books.’

And with that, Scorpius had had enough. He had, after all, promised to only warn them once. And they were going after _him_. Using a title of _honour_ as one of an insult. No one had taught these children their places. Instead, they had been taught to act higher. And he would rip them from their mountains and watch them crumble if he could. But he was being watched – he could feel Albus’ eyes on him, knew the boy would go running if Scorpius did something they all deemed as bad. So tucking away the spells he wanted to use, ones he would have to wait for, he waved the wand almost lazily and watched as the Gryffindor’s arms and legs snapped together as he fell with a _thump_ back onto the floor.

Scorpius stepped up to them. The other two backed away, almost bumping into Albus in their hurry, and Scorpius looked down to the body on the floor.

‘Next time,’ he said softly ‘it won’t be such a nice spell.’

They weren’t laughing now. Not as the two friends abandoned the third and fled for the door.

Albus stepped forward. ‘Thank you,’ he muttered, holding his hand out for his wand.

Scorpius laughed. ‘I didn’t do it for you, _Potter_. And if you think you’re getting this back,’ he returned to spinning the wand around his fingers, ‘you are mistaken.’

‘Scorp-‘

‘My name is _Scorpius_.’ He jabbed the wand in Albus’ direction. The boy flinched. ‘And I made my feeling on you clear last time we spoke.’

‘Then why help today?’

‘I wasn’t helping you. I needed a wand.’ Scorpius went to walk away, but Albus grabbed his arm. Though he dropped it after looking at Scorpius’ face. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Scorpius, please.’ Then, lower. ‘You’re all I have. Please.’

‘You don’t _have_ me.’ He snarled. ‘Whatever person you think you knew was a lie, Albus Potter. Don’t mistake me for him even if we were once the same person. Leave me alone, or I will make you.’

Albus stepped back, grief in his eyes. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised.’ He muttered. ‘I’m not like my father, no one would want to be associated with me.’

Scorpius was pretty sure he was meant to show pity. But he didn’t. Instead, he turned away, ignoring Albus’ pathetic calls after him. He didn’t have much time before the boy would end up rushing to a teacher to get his wand back. Scorpius couldn’t do much in that time. But there were mudbloods here and he had a wand – for a time – that needed to be broken in. A wand may choose the wizard, but it is the wizard who directs the spells.


	13. Chapter 13

Rose Granger-Weasley was fed up. Hogwarts was meant to be _exciting_. The stories her father told her of their own time had been nothing less that adventurous. They had been constantly running around, arguing with each other and fighting with everyone else and saving lives. What did Rose have? An emblem of a lion on her cloak and no pride around her. Before she had started at Hogwarts, she thought everything was already settled. She would have Albus and they would find someone else and _they_ would be the Golden Trio of their time. But then Albus had ended up befriending a Malfoy and then ended up in Slytherin and everything had been ruined. And she, Rose Granger-Weasley, daughter of the _Minister of Magic_ and... Ron... had been left with people who wanted her to know their names but didn’t want to know her in return.

In the last four years, she had gained more sympathy for Harry. As a child, she had been raised on the stories of her parents time at school. As a child, every time they had gone anywhere, it was met with whispers and excitement – something that had only gotten worse if they joined up with her aunt and Harry. As child, she thought it was wonderful, being as well known as the adults. 

But after coming to Hogwarts, she had seen the tightening in his eyes as he tried to say goodbye to his family on the tracks, feeling the eyes on all of them, being approached by the braver people wanting to talk to him. Something she had once thought was brilliant was a chore for Harry – and her parents – that they had struggled through for nineteen days, wishing they could live normally but always being under the shadow of history. 

And that history – the one she knew like the back of her hands, that still had her mother jumping at certain sounds, had her father rubbing his fingers over the scars on his arms, the history she hadn’t even been alive for – it shaped every day of her life. It was the stares from younger students as they started History of Magic and realised who she was – who _Albus_ was. It was the whispers every time one of their names were called. And it was the reason she was lost and friendless in a place her parents _still_ called home.

Four years and a few months into her time at Hogwarts, and she had already started counting down until the day she could leave. She did her school work, she practised spells, she became so lethal on the Quidditch pitch it would have been fun if there was any real competition. But did she enjoy any of it? No. Rose didn’t remember the last time she really enjoyed being at school

Probably on the train there for the first time ever, before her best friend was stolen away from her.

But now – now, as Rose stood opposite Albus, she thought things were finally looking interesting. There were so many ways this could go. A part of her wanted to walk away, to refuse to help Albus. After all, he had abandoned her to become friends with a _Malfoy_ and abandoned her in Gryffindor alone. But she couldn’t do that. Not when he looked as lost as she had always felt. And none of it…. None of it was really his fault. Some people were made to meet, every power in the world pushing them together until they finally did. Those were the people that became family without the blood ties.

Rose had known that was Scorpius for Albus the second she saw them together. But something had happened and now Albus was in front of her, pleading for help. And she couldn’t say no.

‘I’ll find him.’ She promised, regretting the words as soon as they left; She had heard enough of the rumours to know that Scorpius was not Scorpius at the moment. 

‘Thank you.’ Albus breathed.

She smiled, reaching out and patting his arm awkwardly before turning away. She wondered if Albus realised how much his face gave away – if he even knew the truths that his face showed. But it wasn’t her place to ask. She hadn’t spoken to him in so long – she got to know him each summer but every time they were at school he was almost a stranger.  
She knew where Scorpius had gone. The school was large but mostly empty; though the years below hers were slowly gaining more and more students. But emptiness meant you knew everyone, if not by name then by face, and it was always easy to find one blond head around everyone else.

Though what she didn’t expect as she made her way out to the grounds, was to be following a crowd of other students walking the other way, laughing. A few of them had wands out. Another was speaking in a high-pitched voice, waving their arms around, clearly mocking someone else. And all, _all_ of them looked far too cheerful for it being half way through a school day.

Rose sped up. Her parents always said how much they loved Hogwarts. And Rose would have thought their time here perfect, if not for her fathers words to her once. Of how her mother was bullied. How for a year, the whole school through Harry lying and attention seeking. 

They had defeated Voldemort back then, and the world was meant to be better. But some of the cruellest people on earth were the children, and no one ever bothered to stop them. 

She shouldn’t have cared about what she found. Not with who it was – with the rumours she knew were true. But Rose had never been _unkind_ , even to the people she didn’t like. Even to the people that possibly deserved it. Like narrow minded, judgemental, harsh boys that thought they were better than others. War had plagued their parents and grandparents, Rose knew. Cruelty would make it follow their own generation. And the Wizarding World had had enough war.

And even if he had new thought processes, the boy lying on the ground still looked like the Scorpius she knew – who somehow looked like he needed protecting from the world, _despite_ who his family was. It was, Rose knew from the last four years of watching the boy being laughed at by others, a highly annoying talent he had.

‘Scorpius?’ She said, carefully walking towards him. There was a crunch under her feet and she looked down. ‘Dumbledore’s Beard, Malfoy, what did you do?’ She knelt down, picking up the broken fragments of wood. A wand. _Albus’_ wand. She collected as many of the pieces as she could, but she knew there was nothing she could do to fix it. ‘Scorpius, are you okay?’

She reached out to him and he groaned, turned his head, looking her up and down before his lips curled back into a snarl. If nothing else, that one action told Rose that it all really was real. The Scorpius they knew didn’t even _know_ that expression. 

‘Come back for more?’ He snapped. She didn’t know how he had so much venom in his voice when he was lying on the grass with a trickle of blood running from his nose.

‘What happened?’ 

‘Like you care.’

‘I don’t.’ Rose was nothing if not honest. ‘Not about you, anyway. But Albus-‘

He laughed, a harsh sound, as he pushed himself up and wiped the blood off his face. ‘That name follows me around like a bad smell.’

‘That _name_ is your best friend, and even if you don’t seem to care about him, he cares about you.’ A pause. ‘Even when you act like everyone else in the school, throwing him away like he’s nothing.’

‘He _is_ nothing.’

Rose smiled, crouching down and meeting his eyes. ‘In this world, so are you.’ He scowled. ‘I don’t know what you’ve grown up like, Malfoy, and I don’t even want to imagine. But here, you are more of a loser than him. Here, you _protect_ him and he makes sure you are okay. He was there for you when your mother died.’ Scorpius flinched. At least he had some heart in there, somewhere. ‘He was there for you every time you were hurt, every time someone stood on you for what your name represented. Who your father was. And you don’t even deserve it.’

‘And who are you to care.’

‘Rose Granger-Weasley.’

His scowl deepened, and even Rose, Rose, who always thought herself fearless, almost crept back. ‘Blood traitor.’

‘In your world.’ It may have been an insult, but Rose was the daughter of one of the biggest so called _traitors_ around. One who had helped save their world. If Scorpius wanted to call her that, she would take it as a compliment. He rubbed his hand under his nose again, and she sighed. ‘Here.’ A wave of her wand later and he was blood free. He wiggled his nose, looking at her with distrust in his eyes before dropping his hand and watching her. ‘Look, Malfoy… everything… everything you think Albus is… in this world, that’s what _you_ are.’

‘How can I be like _that_?’

‘Your grandparents were death eaters. Your father – however unwilling he said he was – was also one. He may have changed sides in the battle of Hogwarts but not everyone thinks he really meant to. Your whole family represent what we _shouldn’t_ be like. You think Harry was the villain. Voldemort is dead and you, your name and your family represent the villains we know. Your grandparents and great aunt were among the few who hurt muggles and muggleborns and people like my _parents_. Our Scorpius… he was nothing like what the Malfoy name is thought to be. But _you_ … the more you act like this, the more people will want to attack you, and I will stand back and watch. And not even Albus will help you after a while.’

‘I don’t need help from him.’

‘You think that now.’ She stood up. ‘You have a choice here, Malfoy. Keep acting like your name and be lonely and hated in our world. Learn to adapt and realise how _wrong_ you are about everything and you might just have a chance. While you’re thinking of that choice, you can tell Albus he needs a new wand.’

She turned around. It only took her seven steps before he called after her. ‘I can change this future any time I want to. If I get my time turner back.’

Rose paused. And she thought of the look on Albus’ face every time he spoke to his friend. She thought of how close the two had been before, and she wondered, if somewhere under everything this boy knew, he was the same one that Albus knew. ‘You could.’ She allowed, smiling slightly. Because Scorpius liked to learn. Liked to unravel mysteries and work things out. ‘But how will you know your own future is perfect if you don’t bother learning about the people in this one?’


	14. Chapter 14

Scorpius didn’t want to take the girls words to heart. It would have been far far easier if he had been able to smirk those words away and carry on as he was. But the memories of the huddle of students over him as he lay on the ground made him cringe.

He had been a king and Hogwarts had been his castle. But that was another world. Here his crown was made of thorns and laughter, his name one of cowardliness rather than respect. 

So Scorpius did what he did best. He watched. He learnt. And then he did something he had never needed to do before. He stayed silent.

After he had hobbled back into the castle and down to the Slytherin Common room, he didn’t say a word. Not to the students that had caught him – ten against one was never going to be in his favour – who sniggered in the corridors and whispered behind his back. Not to the teachers that faulted in their steps, though the flash of wariness and slight fear in their gaze would have made him smile at any other time. And not to the others in his house, who watched silently as he clambered into their common room and up to his dorm.

He had hoped that would be it, but luck was not on his side in this future, and not long after he had made it up the stairs, _Potter_ appeared in the doorway.

‘That’s your bed.’ The boy said, nodding towards one. It was neatly made, and unlike the others in the room, it had no pictures around it. If not for the small trunk resting under it, Scorpius would have said it was a spare. 

Scorpius walked towards it and almost collapsed down onto the mattress. He could still feel Potter’s eyes on him. ‘Go away.’

‘Are you okay?’

Scorpius just had enough energy left to snort. ‘Do you always show this much concern over your enemies?’

‘Despite what you think, you’re not my enemy.’

_Keep acting like your name and be lonely and hated in our world_. He wouldn’t take those words to heart. She was wrong. She had to be. Even if his nose still stung and the effects of the curses the students practiced on him still lingered in his bones. He was a Malfoy. That was a name of honour, of respect, of loyalty these people didn’t even understand. That was what his name meant. Even if they said it with a scowl here, spitting on it and rubbing it into the dirt. But – 

‘Your wand broke.’ Scorpius said. He turned away before he could get reply, shutting his eyes. Minutes later and he had heard Potter’s footsteps as he walked away.

Since then, there had been a silence that had only been broken by Potter’s desperate attempts at conversation. They went to lessons; Scorpius sat at the back in silence, watching students wave their wands, itching to get his own one back. They went to dinner; Scorpius watched closely as students made comments barbed enough to make Potter clench his fists but not enough that the teachers stopped them. 

Almost without Scorpius noticing, over two more weeks had gone by. His own world seemed to be fading into a distant memory and he hated it. He hadn’t been accepted in this place; they still had his wand and still watched him whenever they could. But he felt himself sinking into a routine here. 

And he felt it every day when they tried to change who he was, when they tried to check what he thought. He stilled if someone said something to him, rather than going on the attack. And he froze if someone approached him, biting back the insults he was so used to hurling.

He stayed silent. And he watched. And he tried to plan an escape he didn’t know how to start, so he could go back to the world he knew and preferred. 

He was doing so well. _Surviving_. Coping and biding his time.

Until the night he woke to find the bed opposite his empty. Something went through him that he would have counted as fear if it were aimed for someone else, thinking back to the day he had found Potter cornered. In the last few weeks, he had learnt even those in Slytherin could be cruel to the students they should have counted as family.

So Scorpius stood up, pulling his dressing gown on and creeping down the stairs, wondering what he would find. Who he would find.

He didn’t expect it to be Potter on his own, throwing balled up parchment into the ever burning fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I feel the need to apologise for this chapter? It's so... nothing, compared to the rest of the story. On the upside, I've just finished writing the next one and just _wait_


	15. Chapter 15

The floorboards creaked as he stepped down off the stairs, and Scorpius turned to frown at them. He knew Hogwarts; the school could be as silent as death when it wanted to be. It wasn’t just the staircases that were alive here.

It was said that if you charmed something enough, it would start to become _living_. There had been many cases of it over history, but this school was one that no one seemed to notice. How many charms had been placed on it, how many spells had hit its walls by careless students, changing it in subtle ways?

He remembered roaming the rooms of the Hogwarts he knew, the quieter, emptier, _purer_ Hogwarts. Even if he had travelled a corridor the day before, when he next went down it, there would be extra rooms, or missing pictures, or a feeling that something wasn’t quite right, even when he couldn’t work out what. If Hogwarts wanted to be silent, it would be. If it wanted to show someone a secret, it could, and if it wanted to make a floorboard creak, it would be able to do that too.

‘What?’ It was odd, how in this short time, he had already learnt what Potter’s tone of voice meant. The boy wasn’t even facing him, but Scorpius already knew the look of loathing – not at Scorpius, but at himself – would be on his face.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Why do you care?’ The words were punctured with the sound of ripping parchment, before he threw another piece onto the fire.

‘I don’t. Not about you. But that parchments never done anything to hurt you.’ 

A snort. ‘You don’t know that. Words. Words and parchment.’ Another piece thrown, and Scorpius stepped forward. ‘You think you’re so powerful, Scorpius.’ Another step. ‘You think waving a wand around and casting spells makes you powerful and everything. But you…’ He threw another piece of parchment, but this time, it was towards Scorpius.

He caught it, unfolding all the wrinkles and scanning the page. ‘What am I meant to be looking at?’ It was obvious. But Scorpius would rather hear what Potter would say. It was more fun that way.

‘I try so hard, Scorpius. I try to be more like James. More like my father. But everything I do…’ A hollow laugh. ‘I bet you love this. Useless Albus Potter, so rubbish even his own father is ashamed of him.’ A shake of his head. ‘You don’t even care. _My_ Scorpius would have known what to do.’

Scorpius paused. Potter was right – he didn’t know what to do. He had never needed to comfort anyone before. He didn’t know what he was meant to say about this. Scorpius father was not cruel, but nor was he full of kindness. He raised the bar and expected Scorpius to reach it, and Scorpius did. They didn’t do heartfelt words.

But nor did they do this, send constant letters reminding each other who they were. In this case, it was Harry Potter, reminding his son that he was meant to be _more_.

‘If,’ Scorpius said, taking another step into the room and picking up Potter’s wand, ‘you really want to take your anger out on his letters, throwing them into the fire won’t do much.’ Scorpius grinned as Albus looked around. ‘ _Incendio._ ’ The letter in his hand burst into flames and within seconds, it was gone, leaving only the thick smell of burning in its wake.

‘Some of us don’t find spell work easy.’

‘Merlin’s beard, Potter, no wonder it’s so easy for people to walk all over you.’ He meant it to be light hearted. Or, at least, not as harsh as he should have said it. But the boy flinched anyway, and Scorpius knew he had made a mistake.

He shouldn’t have cared. But when you spent so long with someone, even not talking, you started to pity them. And Albus Potter was so easy to pity.

‘Here.’ He spun the wand around in his fingers as he walked towards the other boy. He could feel Potter’s eyes on the wand the whole time, and he let the corner of his lips tilt up slightly. He was, at least, still a king somewhere. Even if he only had one subject, and a subject that was his opposite. 

‘What are you doing?’

He picked up another letter, screwed it up and placed it in Potter’s hand, before collapsing next to him on the floor. ‘Hand.’ He said. Potter stuck the parchment under his nose. Scorpius laughed. ‘Other hand.’

‘Why?’

He let himself smile fully at that. Who, in his world, questioned him? _Avery_. No one else he ever let speak, unless it was in agreement, unless it was pushing his throne further into the sky. Avery questioned because she was fearless, because she watched and knew the way their world worked. And hated it. And he let her because she had been useful. And under it all, he had _liked_ her. 

This… Scorpius didn’t know what this was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to stop the boy from questioning everything he did.

‘Live a little, Potter.’

‘This coming from a boy who thinks my whole family should be dead.’

Scorpius waited. Not saying anything, because Potter was mostly correct. And he wanted to see how far he could push the boy. He didn’t know why. He _didn’t care_. But it was fun, and Scorpius had always expected other people to make sure he wasn’t bored.

After an eternity, Potter finally held out his hand. Scorpius smirked, then placed the wand in Potter’s hand, pushing the boys fingers closed. Scorpius saw the flare of surprise in his eyes, one that only grew as Scorpius pointed the wand at the parchment.

‘Say it.’

‘What?’

‘Fire, Potter. Make it. You _are_ a wizard, after all.’

Potter looked at him, a glance that said he thought he knew _exactly_ what Scorpius was doing. That he didn’t trust Scorpius. But he waved the wand anyway, muttering the spell half hardily. The tip of the wand sparked miserably. Scorpius shook his head.

‘Honestly, Potter, it’s almost embarrassing.’ Scorpius put his hand over Potter’s on the wand. His skin was warm, and Scorpius saw the tips of Potter’s ears turn slightly pink. ‘Here.’ He made Potter point the wand again, jabbing the parchment slightly. ‘Say it again.’

Potter did, and Scorpius forced the wand up at the same time. The parchment burst into flames and Potter dropped it quickly. There was a small smile on his face. Tiny, that disappeared as soon as it had appeared. ‘I thought I was your enemy. Why help me?’

Because it was fun. Because, for some reason, Scorpius didn’t like the idea of the boy down here alone, throwing things into a fire and keeping his anger tightly wrapped around him. Anger and hate were pointless while bottled up. But directed, shaped, and they could be turned into a weapon.

Scorpius wondered if he could shape this boys anger to something he could use. It was already clear that while Albus Potter was the son of _Harry Potter_ he was nothing like the man. The hate was almost visible between them; it wouldn’t take much to keep pushing Albus to break with his Potter name.

Maybe that was why Scorpius had cared. Because he saw something in the boy that he knew he could use.

Just like with Avery. With Craig. With Knott and Carrow and every other person he had taken under his wing in the last few years. Each of them with just enough talent to help push him further without going anywhere themselves.

But he couldn’t say any of that to Potter. So he shrugged instead, letting go of Potter’s hand and the wand and leaning back. ‘I should give an enemy a fighting chance, shouldn’t I?’

It was the wrong thing to say. Again. But this time, it wasn’t because Potter flinched. No, the anger and lingering pain disappeared from his eyes and he smiled, letting out a low chuckle. ‘I feel, Scorpius, as though you would be _exactly_ the type to not let an enemy fight back.’

Truth. The fun was in the hunt, watching the fear as a mudblood, a traitor, whoever it was, ran from them. The fun was the chase, watching as they realised they had nowhere left to go. The fun was _after_ , watching any form of hope fade from their eyes.

But this – this was fun too. Though Scorpius already knew it wouldn’t happen with anyone else. Maybe it was this futures Scorpius, somewhere deep inside him, knowing what was meant to happen. Or maybe it was just that Scorpius had spent long enough in this world to realise even he needed allies, even if they were someone like _Potter._

‘You would be a worthy rival, you know.’ Scorpius said quietly. ‘If you stopped believing other people and believed in yourself.’

‘I would rather be a worthy friend.’

Scorpius laughed softly, falling back so he was lying on the floor, staring up at the commonroom ceiling. The reflection from the lake window made dark shadows dance off it, and he followed the movement of them. ‘I don’t do friends.’ He said.

‘Must be a lonely existence.’

‘I’m in a world where I don’t know anyone, Potter, and I’ve gone from being the most loved student to the most hated.’ He was being too honest. But he was tired. And he knew that his own loneliness was nothing next to the boy next to him. Whose own father was ashamed of who he was. ‘I don’t think loneliness quiet covers that.’

He wasn’t watching, but he saw Potter nod. There was silence for a while, broken only by the crackling fire. By Potter methodically ripping up another letter. Scorpius wondered what he was thinking. Then ‘I can tell you. About this future. About our people. If you want.’

Scorpius closed his eyes, flicking his hand at Potter to let him know he could carry on. He felt Potter shift slightly, and opened his eyes to see the boy settle down on the floor next to him. He shut his eyes again as Potter started to quietly speak.


	16. Chapter 16

‘Wait. Where am I even meant to start?’

Scorpius sighed. ‘The Battle. I already know Cedric died early here.’

Pause. ‘They knew it was coming. Dad had come back to Hogwarts, and Voldemort knew,’ Scorpius still hated to contempt in his voice when he spoke the Dark Lord’s name, ‘So they rushed around to try and get young students out. And Slytherins. They realised… most Slytherins would have family fighting against them. It wasn’t fair to make them fight. But most came back anyway, along with the younger ones. A lot died. Students younger than _us_ , Scorp. Everyone fought, then Voldemort halted the battle, ordering dad out into the forest. He didn’t go at first. He went to see Snape, but it was too late.’

‘Too late for what?’

‘Voldemort had set the snake on him. Because of what he had done.’

‘Done?’ Scorpius turned his head to the side, to stare at Potter. ‘Severus Snape is one of Voldemort’s most loyal. He stayed here for years watching and spying.’ He had assumed that was why the man wasn’t alive now – because they found out he was always a death eater. 

‘Is.’ The word was soft. ‘Snape died, Scorpius. He hated Voldemort. He was one of ours. He protected dad and the school as much as he could and Voldemort killed him for it. I’m named after him.’

‘But-‘

‘Do you want to hear the story or not, Scorpius?’ The question was reproving enough that Scorpius raised an eyebrow, but he lay back down, waving a hand at Potter. ‘Neville Longbottom killed Nagini. Voldemort killed dad… Or the part of Voldemort that was _inside_ dad. Nar – your grandmother lied to Voldemort to keep your father safe, saying dad was dead when he wasn’t. Dad fought him, keeping the rest of the school safe and Voldemort died.’

‘It can’t have been that simple.’

‘We are all mortal in the end, Scorp, even the person who convinces himself, and others, otherwise.’

‘The Dark Lord-‘

‘Had a muggle father, did you know that?’

‘You dare-‘ Scorpius sat up quickly. How had he forgotten, how had he _let himself_ forget who he was talking to? That was the only reason Potter was sat here. Trying to twist Scorpius’ mind to what they believed. Those letters probably weren’t even _real_. He went to push up from the floor, but Potter grabbed his arm. ‘Get off me.’

‘It’s true.’ Potter said. ‘Read anything about him, Scorpius, and it will tell you that the man you follow, the one that tells you that only purebloods should have magic, is a _half-blood_.’

‘Get. Off. Me.’

‘Scorp-‘

Scorpius shook him off, getting to his feet and brushing the imaginary dust off his arms. Voldemort was the best of all of them, and the Malfoys were lucky that they were related to Bellatrix Black, because it made them closer to him. Voldemort _had_ to be a pureblood. He strode towards the stairs, determined to pretend none of this happened. To go back to ignoring Potter, until Scorpius found a way home.

But then Potter laughed, a quiet sound full of bitterness. ‘James always says I put my hope in the wrong people. Like you. I hoped you would learn to change, Scorpius. Because like it or not, you’re just as stuck here as I am. But I was wrong. That’s fine. Go back to thinking up reasons to hate us all. Please. Just… don’t come back trying to act nice to me again. Don’t.’ Scorpius turned to watch him; Potter stabbed his wand into the floor. Orange sparks flew up from it. ‘I’ve lost my best friend and you walking around wearing his face… that’s just cruel.’

Scorpius didn't know what to say. Potter wasn't right - but he had grown up in a world where lies about Voldemort were accepted. Just as, in Scorpius' world, Harry Potter's status as The Boy Who Lived was laughed at. It was what they were both used to.

This future didn't exist until Scorpius had accidentally created it, but that didn't mean the people inside it were any less real.

Scorpius silently walked back over to the fire. He climbed on the chair and sprawled over it, his arm hanging down by Potter's side. 'Tell me the rest.' he said. Not an apology. Scorpius didn't apologize. Especially not to _Potters_. But it was something. An admittance that both of them would have to bend while trying to talk to the other.

Potter didn't speak for a minute, but Scorpius waited. He felt like it was some sort of test, but he wasn't sure who it was aimed at. What it meant to pass it. Neither of them broke the silence but neither of them moved. And then Potter talked.  
Scorpius stayed completely silent, listening to Potters low voice as he spoke about the years after the battle. He knew it wasn't just information from textbooks; just as Scorpius knew his father's story, Potter knew from his own parents. Their horrors and dreams and fears that something would happen again. Potter spoke of how they rebuilt the school: students from all four houses side by side with each other and the teachers to make it like it once was. He spoke of how some people disappeared for years; how the Weasley’s home opened its doors to anyone who needed to not be alone. He spoke of his own childhood and how it – how everything – affected him. Being the middle child of Harry Potter, already cast in the shadow of his father and pushed deeper still by his older brother. His brother, named after their grandfather and with the personality to match. Smart and funny and always in trouble, even though the teachers adored him. And knowing his sister, Lily who had the same temper as their mother, would be exactly the same.

‘What about,’ Scorpius said, not wanting this strange story to end but tiring of hearing about a family he had been taught to hate, ‘ _him_? Me…. Your Scorpius.’ He felt eyes on him and he shifted so he could see Potter. ‘What?’

‘Why do you care?’

‘I’m bored and awake.’

‘Interesting how you never seem to answer that question, Scorpius. Almost like you _do_ care but don’t want to admit it.’

‘Don’t try to humanise me, Potter. Or at least, don’t try and hold me in the same regard as the people you know.’ Scorpius reached down and grabbed Potter’s wand from the floor. Potter’s eyes shifted from him to the wand and back again, three times, before Scorpius faced the ceiling again, spinning the wand around above him. ‘Is that what you are doing? Humouring yourself and trying to see how I will react to your stories? Potter, this world disgusts me. You… your _father_ being alive is wrong. This is now how it is meant to be and no amount of storytelling will change that.’

‘The more you talk, the more I wonder who you are trying to convince.’

‘Don’t annoy me, Potter.’

‘I thought we were talking.’

‘Were we? I thought I was listening.’

‘Then _talk_.’ There was challenge in his voice, and Scorpius approved of it. ‘Tell me, Scorpius, exactly why your time is better than mine. Tell me about your life, your family, Hogwarts there. Convince me that I’m not worth any care; that’s an easy enough thing to do.’

The night was quiet, and Scorpius knew it was pointless even trying to sleep again in it. And he wondered what he could do – if the Scorpius that Potter knew held enough power over the boy that _he_ still had some. If he could convince the product of this future that it was the wrong one. So with a put-on sigh, Scorpius shifted, getting comfortable, and started to talk.


	17. Chapter 17

‘My Hogwarts is much quieter than this one.’ It seemed so far away now; he had become so used to the crowded chaos of this place even the idea of walking down the corridors and hearing nothing but a single set of echoing footsteps seemed strange. He wanted it back, desperately. But it still seemed strange. ‘You cram this place full of waifs and strays, Potter-‘

‘Good thing for you, then.’ There was a smile in Potter’s voice. Scorpius ignored it.

‘- it’s like you just pull random people off the streets and give them wands. Blood traitors and half bloods and _mudbloods_.’

‘I don’t like that word.’ Potter said mildly. Scorpius glanced at him to see the previous smile was gone and there was anger simmering in his eyes. ‘I get that you’ve been raised differently, Scorpius, but have some respect.’

‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ He pointed the wand at Potter. ‘I may be talking to you but that doesn’t mean anything.’ The other boy didn’t reply. ‘The Hogwarts I know only accepts those that swear loyalty to the Dark Lord. Those that have proven they follow him. Pure bloods, mostly. The school itself…’ Scorpius smiled. ‘It was my kingdom, Potter. I ruled every corner of it.’ He wasn’t planning to tell his story, not really, but it slipped out of him. His childhood, his father, his mother. Delphi. His story laid bare, to an _enemy_. Scorpius had always assumed he never needed friends; he was too high up, too important. But even in his own world, he had _people_. He hadn’t realised quite how much he needed them – Avery, always there to put him in his place. Craig, to order around while still giving hope of _friendship_ one day. And others, just to talk to him, just for him to order around. Little acts of interaction. But here, Scorpius had been starved of it. 

The only thing Scorpius didn’t mention – and he didn’t even know why – was what happened to Potters mother. His family. What happened under Hogwarts that Scorpius had created.

‘I thought you were trying to convince me?’ Potter said once Scorpius fell silent. ‘All I’m getting from this whole thing is that you have a lonelier existence than I do. With everything you say, really, I think that more and more.’

‘Don’t pity me, Potter. My life was perfect there.’

‘Really? Then who went with you to your mother’s funeral?’

‘Harsh, Potter. Here I was thinking you were weak.’ It hurt; that was the one weakness Scorpius would ever admit to. That he had loved his mother completely. She saw what their world was and hated it, but never judged him or his father for being a part of it. Scorpius remembered as a child, waking up late in the nights and hearing his parents talking, her soft words a hum through the house. She had made everything brighter for both of them. When his father was too busy working to look after him, when his father forgot his birthdays or end of term dates, or forgot when he had exams, it had been his mother that had been there for him.

And when she had died… It had broken Scorpius more than he would ever admit. That was the year he had gone from prince to king, students and teachers too scared to do anything about him. Because his mother had been his moral compass before that, telling him what was right and wrong. After her, he had had to make a new one; and Scorpius had known that while his mother had been a lot of things, she had not been strong. So he learnt what strength was. And every action after that was to try and make his father proud. Notice him.

The only person by his side they day his mother had been buried was his father. His grandparents never approved of the match. His mothers parents were already dead. 

‘I was there.’ Potter said quietly. ‘you – he – asked me to go. He didn’t need to; I was his best friend, I would have done anything to help with his pain. Yet he always assumed… he always thought that I would rather be somewhere else. He always thought that I was only ever friends with him out of pity.’ Potter shook his head. ‘I would have gone anywhere with him. _For_ him. The day of the funeral… I would have done anything to take the pain away. And if you are _anything_ like the Scorpius I know… you should have had someone there. You needed someone there.’

Scorpius couldn’t imagine what that would have been like. To have someone he trusted enough to stand by his side when he needed it. What it Potter was right – that this was the better side of the future?

But it couldn’t be. Potter was only doing to him what he had planned to do to Potter. He knew this world, had seen it for the last few weeks and he knew that it was the worst outcome. What was he doing, _listening_ to this, listening to Potter. He blamed the time.

‘I don’t need anyone.’ He stood up. ‘We have lessons tomorrow, Potter. If you want to look like half a wizard you should at least pretend to sleep.’ He strode towards the staircase, ignoring Potter as the boy called him back. He wouldn’t listen, not to Potter.

He climbed back into bed and turned over, his back to Potter’s bed. He closed his eyes but didn’t sleep – he couldn’t, not with the night running through his head, Potter’s hand under his as he taught him to cast a spell correctly. 

He didn’t know how long past until he heard Potter creep back into the room. He stayed perfectly still, hardly breathing, as he listened to the other boy get comfortable, half wondering what Potter even thought of what had happened. 

He had to get back, before this world started becoming _normal_ to him. Scorpius had to get home.


	18. Chapter 18

Albus Potter had grown up with some very weird things in his life. After all, life couldn’t be _ordinary_ when his parents and extended family were famous in their world. And when he had an uncle who ran a joke shop and tested out new products on them all.

But there was nothing weirder than looking at a boy he had known for years and _not_ knowing him. Than seeing anger and hate in eyes where before he had seen nothing but friendship and curiosity. 

Albus hadn’t known what to do at first. It was clear the new Scorpius didn’t want to know him. And he had been getting used to that; one more person in the world hating him didn’t make much of a difference, it just meant a longer queue of people wanting to hurl insults at him.

But everything had changed again. Even if Scorpius didn’t want to admit it, even if he got up the morning after they spoke and ignored Albus completely, something had changed.

Not with everyone else. Albus had to bite back his smile on a few occasions that morning, watching the look of loathing Scorpius aimed at anyone who got too close to him. Albus, however, had none of that. Nor did he have conversation; to anyone else, Scorpius’ silence had never even been broken, but the air around them no longer crackled with tension.

It gave him something dangerous. _Hope._ Hope that things would go back to normal. Or as normal as Albus had ever known. If he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that his Scorpius was back. 

They had had silences like this before, after all. Even the closest friends argue. Even the closest friends need time to themselves. And in five years, as close as Scorpius and Albus were, even they sometimes had to have their differences. 

But the hope was worse than that. 

Albus and Scorpius had always been the outcasts. The losers, the laughing stock, the lowest of the low. Albus could hardly cast a spell. Scorpius… Scorpius was the bookish son of a man no one trusted. Neither knew how to stand up for themselves. They only new how to look after the other.

But now; his Scorpius had gone and in his place there was a stronger one, one that knew how to hold his head up high and how to gain respect. And friendship with _this_ Scorpius… that was the dangerous thing. 

Albus had loved his Scorpius. It was a secret he had kept for a year now, how his smart, funny, gentle friend had stolen his friendship and then his stupid heart. Rose knew – it was hard to keep anything from her – but she was the only one.

And this new Scorpius… he wore the same face, spoke in the same voice. And Albus couldn’t help but like him because of that. But he was sharper and smarter and Albus was terrified that he would end up feeling that again. Feeling _more_.

And he couldn’t. Not for this Scorpius. 

He should be sensible. If he was, he would walk away. Ignore Scorpius back. Listen to the warnings – when even _Delphi_ told him to be careful, he really should listen. But he was a Slytherin. He created his own family and never gave up on them and that meant Scorpius, no matter who he seemed to be.

And that was why, instead of walking to Potions with everyone else the morning after that very sleepless night, he was making his way to the headmistress’ office. He wasn’t even sure what he was going to say to her. He was sure she would probably want to check him for curses or hexes.

But McGonagall knew him, and had told him on more than one occasion that he was often too much like his father. Too unflinching in the face of danger. Too willing to give everything up for his friends. Albus would far rather those traits he shared with his father were ignored, but like everyone else in the world, McGonagall only saw the good in him.

His father was this perfect image of what a wizard should be.

And Albus was not.

He strode to the McGonagall's office, barely pausing as he uttered the password to the gargoyle. It jumped aside as he passed it, and he paused briefly only to touch his fingers to the curve of its wing. He had always understood this creature. Something made to fly trapped in stone. The gargoyle was how Albus felt - stuffed into a mould he didn't want to be in, unable to break free. Unable to do anything but stand there until he was told he was allowed to change.

He was so tired of it all.

He pushed open the door to the office and walked in. There were, he thought, a few advantages of being Harry Potter's son. One being that though it was rarely seen at school, the teachers of Hogwarts were more like his extended family than anything else. Professor Longbottom was his godfather. McGonagall was like a weird aunt that appeared for family meals and occasionally told them all off -even the adults - before grudgingly being nice to them all. The other advantage was that he got to wait for her inside her office rather than standing outside, where whispers could start. McGonagall still taught; she had once said to him the only way they would take Transfiguration off her was when she finally retired. Albus was pretty sure that was never going to happen.

He sat down on the chair by the fire and waited, looking around the room as he did. It had barely changed in the five years he had been at Hogwarts - he was pretty sure the only thing that had changed from when his father was at school was the extra portrait on the wall, one that always seemed empty when he was around. Even Fawkes' old stand was here; Dumbledore's phoenix had not been seen since his death, but they kept it, just in case. Some people said that magical creatures could not feel as wizards could, but Fawkes was a bird that disproved that. He had been wild before Dumbledore and had returned to that wilderness after his death, a bird who couldn't die mourning not an owner, but a friend.

Books were packed carefully into bookcases and piled up on the floor, a thin layer of dust covering most of them. Albus didn't even know what most of them were - old books, books no longer taught from. Books taken from students when they weren't allowed. Judging from the looks of most of them, they had been stuck in this room, unopened, for more years than Binns had been teaching History of Magic.

There were a few though, well loved or looked after, distinctively clean amongst the dust. If he was better at magic – or less lazy – he would have levitated one over to him to see what McGonagall read in her free time. He could make out some titles; _Unravelling time_ and _Cursing the Uncursable_ , and was slightly amused to know that she was just as serious in her own place as she was when she was teaching.

He sighed, tapping his foot as he waited. He knew when she was nearly there; the corridors under the office filled with noise, and the many portraits around the room started mumbling and shuffling, eying up Albus with interest. Most of the time, they pretended to be asleep; Albus guessed it was a boring form of eternity, stuck in paint and canvas. 

The door finally flew open and Albus jumped to his feet. McGonagall strode in, not even pausing to look at him as she walked over to the desk. ‘Potter?’

‘Professor.’ He should make small talk. Or something. But as he walked over to her, all that came out was ‘I want Scorpius’ wand.’

She looked up at him, slowly. ‘Do I need to test you for hexes, Potter?’

Probably. Albus was already sure this was a stupid mistake. But he was here, and he believed he was doing the right thing, no matter how bad it sounded. ‘No need. I’m myself, professor, I promise.’

‘Something someone cursed may say.’

‘I know he’s not the boy I knew, Professor. But he’s also not the one that came here. He’s changing, and by treating him like this more will just make him unwilling to try.’ Albus sighed, pacing the floor before her, knowing she was watching and knowing every portrait in the room was doing so as well. ‘Please. I feel like we can trust him.’

A half truth; Albus thought _he_ could trust the other boy. They had been alone last night. Scorpius had held Albus’ wand for long enough that he could have done anything and walked away. But he hadn’t. He had listened and taught and joked – and while Albus knew he had also lost his temper, Albus was sure anyone would have done that in his place. But as for others – Albus was unsure who else could trust Scorpius. He was still blinded by prejudice towards muggleborns. 

Only time would tell if it was a bad idea. 

‘Potter-‘

‘Please, professor. I’ll watch him. I’ll tell you at the first sign of trouble.’

McGonagall watched him for what seemed like endless hours; Albus felt as if she was stripping away all his secrets to find the truth, and he stayed silent, knowing that one wrong word would decide her mind. But finally, she pursed her lips and strode over to a cabinet, waving her wand to make the doors fly open. She picked up a wand and looked at it before handing it to Albus. ‘One wrong move, Potter, and it gets taken off him again. And we will destroy it and tell the ministry what happened.’

‘Why… haven’t you already told them?’ Albus had never known McGonagall to break the rules. And this was a big one; anyone who seemed to support Voldemort, or try to keep what he had been doing had to be reported. 

McGonagall just looked at him, and he had almost given up with an answer when she did finally speak. ‘Because he is a child, Potter. And his father has been through enough without his only son being taken to Azkaban.’

‘But-‘

‘Don’t you have lessons, Potter?’ It was a gentle push but he knew it was one he had to take. So he nodded, pocketing Scorpius’ wand as he left the room. 

And it was then he remembered; a distant conversation he overheard on the stairs late one night as a child. McGonagall and his father and his mother. Talking about the past, something Albus had no interest in then. But he remembered McGonagall’s voice. _Maybe we were the ones to make him like this_ , she had said, _I regret, Harry, that none of us, student or teacher, ever asked him if he needed out help. No wonder he refuses help from us now_.

He didn’t know who it was then, hadn’t cared. But it was clear, piecing things together, McGonagall’s guilt for Draco Malfoy and care for Scorpius even now. She was still trying to make up for something she missed years ago – just as his father was still trying to make up for it. Though Draco refused that help. Albus had been round at the cottage a few times in the last few years, and every time, Draco had avoided him completely. He would have been worried, once, if not for the fact that he seemed to treat Scorpius the same way.

It did make Albus wonder, though. What Draco would think of his son now. What Draco would say – because of how hard he tried to prove he was not his parents, not a Death Eater – if he knew what this Scorpius believed.

And what Scorpius would think of him…

An idea started forming in Albus’ mind. It was stupid; most likely it would do more damage than not in the short term. But it was something.

Albus smiled, changing direction half way down a corridor; he should be in lessons, but there were a few things he needed to get while the school was quieter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning; there may not be an update next week - I'm off to an award... thing... for a final of a short story writing competition! (I'm not going to win)


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I didn't win the writing comp on friday, however, since I was a finalist, my piece was in an anthology which means, I guess, I'm technically a proper author now?
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy the chapter and I cannot wait for you all to read the one I'm putting up on Friday!

Scorpius almost dropped his quill when Potter walked up to him and wordlessly held out a wand. Not just any wand – he may not have seen it in weeks but Scorpius knew his own. It wasn’t just a wand, it was an extension of himself.

As Scorpius stared at it, he itched to reach out; but this could be a test. The other boy could be teasing him, ready to pull away and laugh in an instant. It wasn’t… Scorpius knew already that that wasn’t like Albus Potter. But he didn’t _want_ that knowledge.

He didn’t want what this meant. 

Because for the first time in a long time, Scorpius felt true fear swell up in his chest. His heart couldn’t decide whether it wanted to race as fast as a firebolt or stop altogether.   
There were three types of fear that Scorpius knew. One was the fear in the middle of the thrill. It’s the part of a person that wonders _what is it all goes wrong_ even when they know that are on top of the world. The second was the fear when it _did_ all go wrong. Standing at the edge of a grave and wondering what will happen to them all now that their heart, their morals, were buried beneath. 

And this, this was the third. The overwhelming fear that he had never felt before, when a world was tipped upside down and you knew that no matter what, you were never going to right it again. For Scorpius, it was the leap from his present to this one. It was the admittance that _Potter_ had turned from enemy to… something else. 

He had to get home, he had to get home, he had _get home_. The fear was so powerful, the thoughts so strong that Scorpius had taken a step away from Potter before he even realised it.

His father had always told him never to let anyone see his weaknesses. But it was too late for that.

‘What’s the catch?’ There was always a catch. And the tight look on Potter’s face proved it. ‘Spit it out, Potter.’

‘Help me.’

‘I don’t think there is enough time or people in this world to help you, Potter.’ The words were harsh but the tone was not. Unintentional. Potter’s lips tilted up, and Scorpius wondered what he was thinking.

‘Teach me.’ 

‘Again-‘

‘Spell work. Please, Scorp.’ Potter reached up with his empty hand and ran it through his already messy hair. It was a tell; Scorpius had seen it a few times before. It was something the boy only ever did when he reached a point of worry that even his anger was no good for him. And his anger was something Potter wrapped around himself like a cloak, something that held against the bitterness of the world beyond his own skin. ‘I’m tired. I’m so tired of being useless.’

‘You’re not _that_ useless.’

A snort. ‘You know that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me?’ He shook his head. ‘I am. I know it and you know it and everyone in this stupid school knows it. I just… I want to be able to prove them wrong. I want to-‘

‘Prove you’re more like your father?’ Scorpius asked. It was a deceptively quiet question. 

‘Yes.’

‘You’re not him.’ A flinch, and Scorpius stepped forward, face to face with the other boy, plucking his wand out of Potter’s hand as he spoke. ‘Albus Potter, the Slytherin son that people are ashamed of.’ Another flinch. Potter looked down. Scorpius grabbed his chin and forced his head back up so their eyes met. ‘I’m going to say this once, Potter, and that should be enough. You are not your father. You will never be him. And that is fine, because you are Albus Potter.’ A smile on Scorpius’ face, as sharp as a sword. He didn’t have to make the boy feel better. But this was far more interesting that hating him. Even if the fear ate away inside his chest with every word. ‘Albus Potter, the boy who befriended a Malfoy even though he knew what it would mean. Potter, who stayed trying to be friends despite the fact I am _nothing_ like the Scorpius you know. Potter, who sees his _enemy_ and, stupidly, tries to help him.’ Scorpius flicked his chin before letting go. ‘Would the great Harry Potter do anything like that?’

‘It’s not the same.’

Scorpius laughed. ‘No. Some people act like heroes to the world. Others act like heroes to themselves. Both are annoying, but at least you are the one that does it because it’s your nature.’ He took a step back, then another, tapping his wand on his head in mock salute as he spun on his heel. ‘Thanks for the wand, Potter.’

He barely got to the door before the question. ‘Does that mean yes?’

Scorpius smirked. ‘Find an empty classroom, Potter, and we will see what we can do. I really don’t hold out much hope.’ 

He didn’t expect anything. Anything other than Potter backing out, panicking and pretending he hadn’t just given Scorpius back a weapon. But a bare two hours after Scorpius had left the common room to slowly walk around the castle that had once been his, a young Slytherin with shaking hands handed him a small sheet of paper. On it was just one line. A classroom and a floor number. And a time.

It seemed Potter had more of his father’s reckless bravery in him than Scorpius thought. But then, while his fear had been growing, students fear of him had been shrinking. He had been here long enough that all their anger had slowly leached out. He was still sometimes cornered; still the target of cowards who would rather shoot spells at his back than confront him, but it was less.

Scorpius had a feeling this was more like the anger the Scorpius of this world had always received. Fear and hate of his name, rather than the fear and hate of Scorpius’ reputation.   
In his own world, Scorpius’ father was respected and known. In this one… Scorpius had received a couple of letters from his father since arriving. He had scanned them, then thrown them on the fire without answering. He didn’t want to know what a laughing stock his father was in this place.

Scorpius had still not gone back to the common room by the time the sun had gone down in the early evening. He hadn’t bothered going to lessons either; he had climbed to the top tower and sat staring out at the forest, watching the heavy frost settle on the trees and turning them white. Though it was freezing cold outside; the harsh Scottish winter had started a while ago and snow was a common sight now, the air around the castle was still warm.

He didn’t know what he was doing. It was stupid, the idea of _helping_ a boy who he should hate. Especially when, once Scorpius found the time turner again, he would not exist anymore. He should walk into that classroom and put an end to it all. It would make everything so much easier. 

Maybe three weeks ago, he would have done that if he had the chance. But now…

Who was he kidding? He _had_ the chance. When he had the weight of Potter’s wand in his hand all those weeks ago. And instead, he had walked away. He was always on track to his own destruction.

He would have said it was because he didn’t want to take that last step. He may not share the morals of this world, he may be happy to torture and hurt traitors, but Scorpius had never taken the final step towards killing anyone. Part of him thought that it took something away from you once you had blood like that on your hands. Another part of him sometimes thought traitors were not worth death. But this was different. No matter how much he tried to ignore that though, this was different. 

He couldn’t put it off any longer. He swung his legs back over the side and stood up, dusting the light layer of snow off his robes before walking back inside, making his way down to the classroom.

In the Hogwarts he knew well, many of the classrooms had simply… disappeared. Hogwarts was more alive than anyone knew; his school was emptier and had no need for these rooms, so the school closed their doors and vanished them away, ready to pull them back out if they were needed.

There were still too many classrooms in this version of the school than was needed, but many stayed where they were because the school knew they were needed. Not for lessons, but for memories. A few generations ago, this school would have been crowded. Full of mudbloods and half bloods and purebloods, generations of children from all around the world growing up in these rooms. But then the first Wizarding war had happened, and their parent's generation had been less. And then the second Wizarding War had happened, and even here, Scorpius’ own year was smaller than it should have been. They would recover in time.

But those wars were why the classrooms stayed. Because on each door was carved a name, a name of a witch or wizard that had died in those wars or because of the Dark Lord.  
The classroom Potter had found was one that Scorpius knew was always empty. He would have said it harsh, a dig at himself if he hadn’t already started to understand Potter. Because the name, painted gold to stand out against the wood, on the door he gently pushed open was none other than _Lily Potter_.

It wasn’t a dig. It was Potter’s way of reaching out. Of feeling safe when even he didn’t know what was going to happen. Scorpius wondered if this was one of the boys many hiding places within the school to stay away from the students that laughed at him.

‘You came.’ The shock in Potter’s voice was enough to make Scorpius grin. ‘I… Thank you?’

‘You won’t be saying that soon.’ Scorpius said, striding past him to the board. He waved his wand and a small piece of chalk rose into the air and started writing a list of spells out. They were simple, first year spells, and Scorpius saw Potter’s scowl. ‘I don’t know where to start.’ He said. ‘So we start at the beginning.’

Potter nodded, pulling his wand out of his pocket. And Scorpius taught.


	20. Chapter 20

They met in the classroom ever other evening, the days between dedicated to their homework, and whatever theory work Scorpius could dig up for Potter.

It was on one of these homework days about a week after they started that Scorpius grew bored. He had never had to bother with homework before; a long list of people ready to do it for him in the hopes that they could become one of his friends. So instead of scribbling frantically and muttering under his breath as he looked through a textbook like Potter was, he stared lazily around the common room at other people. Most were also doing work, but a few were sat staring through the window to the lake, pulling faces at the merpeople. Slytherins – all of them, not just Potter and himself – were treated badly, even now. They were the house known for their pride, yet theirs was the house known for raising people into death eaters and worse. Scorpius knew to be proud of that. Other students didn’t. But while that was the view of everyone else, the real world inside this room was one of family. Older students helped younger ones as much as they could. They protected one another. And they made friends with the creatures others looked down on; Scorpius had watched one amazed first year staring at a merperson making their own form of magic. After they had finished, they waved a webbed hand at the student, who concentrated, almost shouted the spell, then watched as the tip of their wand light up. The merperson had clapped, showing a sharp-toothed grin at the child.

Albus and he may not be liked in the school, but they were still Slytherins. Outside these walls, others joined in and laughed at them. But inside the common room, the only safe place any Slytherin had, they were all family. He was just one that was ignored more than anything else.

In another corner, a laughing group of fourth years were leaning over a game of wizard chess. Both players had their eyes narrowed as they tried to beat the other, but both also had smirks on their faces. Friendly competition; which quickly turned into a game of destructive chess; no longer playing to win, but playing to destroy as many of the other person’s pieces in a quicker amount of time. 

This was a place of family. Laughter and chatter threaded themselves in the air. It was a room full of life, that summed up every part of what a Slytherin was meant to be.  
Scorpius loved his home. Loved the kingdom he had built himself. But it was nothing like this; there were so few people he allowed inside the common room that it was always quiet. Avery’s sharp tones and constant reading couldn’t compare with this.

‘Here.’ Scorpius said suddenly, throwing his own mostly-empty parchment at Albus. ‘Do charms for me.’

Albus looked up just in time to catch it. There was a pause as Albus looked at the tiny amount Scorpius had done before asking ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m teaching you. So you might as well teach me.’

‘This isn’t teaching, Scorp, it’s cheating.’

‘And?’

‘And we have our OWLs this year. So do your own work.’ Albus threw the parchment back.

Scorpius sat up, and it seemed for a second that the entire common room was watching, the talking stopping for a heartbeat to watch what would happen. But Scorpius only laughed. Not the mocking laugh he normally used, this was true and light, and though he was aware Albus was watching him slightly open mouthed, he didn’t care. When it died down, he only pointed his wand at Albus. ‘You.’ He said. ‘Are lucky I’m in a good mood.’

‘Is that what you call this?’ the other boy asked. ‘I call it _concerning_.’

Scorpius could still feel curious on him, but he didn’t care. And to his own shock, he leant over the parchment and started to write. 

He started to mark the time with their evening lessons. Though it had been winter when they started them, before Scorpius knew it, Christmas had started to slowly creep up. The large trees appeared in the Great Hall, and then they woke one day to find the Slytherin common room decorated in sparkling silver and green tinsel. Mistletoe followed the older students around in the corridors and a few times, teachers were caught under it too. Small presents started being scattered around; not for the students, but from them, small gifts to the house elves that kept their home clean without being seen. 

Albus had explained them to Scorpius. In his world, the house elves were ignored. Half the time, Scorpius forgot they were even there. But here, they were thanked, even in the smallest, wordless ways. It had, Albus said, started as a joke. His brother and Teddy started it, trying to embarrass Hermione with the memories of what she was like at school. But other students had picked up on it, and what had started as a joke stayed as something serious, because they all realised a race that enjoyed serving others shouldn’t be put down or treated as less.

It was also, he had said, a small reminder of Dobby – a house elf that had looked after the Potter family more than once. 

One evening as Scorpius walked into the classroom, he came to a stop. He was used to the plain walls and the general feeling of _unloved_ from the room. But the house elves had been to work; they saw everything in this place, had seen the two of them use the room and given them a small bit of Christmas here. He wanted to smile. But it betrayed something he wasn’t willing to give up yet.

There was mistletoe above the board. Scorpius pointed his wand at it, letting it all go up in flames just as Albus walked in. The other boy’s lips tilted up as he saw what Scorpius was doing, and Scorpius scowled.

‘Wand.’ He said. 

Albus obeyed, pulling his wand out and perching on the edge of a desk. His free hand traced the carved names in the wood absentmindedly. ‘Wait.’ 

‘Potter-‘

‘One second. McGonagall is sending round the list tomorrow for the holidays. Are you going to stay?’

‘Where else would I do? I didn’t think I would be _allowed_ out of the school.’ A pause. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’m staying and I didn’t want to be alone.’

‘You have a family, Potter.’

‘Dad thinks I’m staying because I love this school.’ A laugh hollow enough that Scorpius glanced at him. ‘How to get my father off my back. To pretend I love Hogwarts as much as he did.’

Scorpius didn’t know what to say to that. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to give comfort – or even how to do that – or insult the boy's father. So instead of doing either, he threw a cushion towards Albus. ‘Stunning spells.’ 

Albus jumped back onto the floor, placing the cushion behind him, and they started. 

Weeks ago, Scorpius would have taken satisfaction of being about to stun this boy without getting into trouble for it. Back then, the trouble _would_ have been worth it. But this was different. This wasn’t about him, it was about Albus, and the look of concentration on his face and the way he stood that made him look as if he was about to go into battle that made Scorpius smile. It was the muttered swearing when he went wrong that made Scorpius laugh. 

But Albus was getting better. He was good to start with; Albus wasn’t a useless wizard, no matter what he thought. He just lacked the confidence – whenever he did something right, he assumed it a fluke. And when it went wrong, it just solidified his thoughts.

Scorpius let it slide for another week and a half. He was watching to see what Albus could do first. But two days into the Chrstimas holidays, the school strangely quiet now that most students had gone home, Scorpius went into the classroom ready for war.

‘Patronus charm.’ He said.

Albus’ look of disbelief was almost worth it. ‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Scorpius, we haven’t even done that in lessons. It’s a sixth year-‘

‘You wanted me to teach you, so let me.’

‘I wanted you to help me catch up!’

‘What better way of shutting people up, Potter, is there than being better than them?’

‘I can’t do it.’ A whisper.

‘I think you can. So stop arguing and get practicing.’

Albus looked as if he was going to say something else, but with a roll of his eyes, he pulled out his wand. ‘How?’

‘Surely you know the basics, Potter. After all, isn’t this one of your father’s favourite spells?’ Albus scowled at him. ‘Close your eyes. _Now_ , Potter. Now, think of a happy though.’

‘Don’t have any of them.’ It was a sullen mutter.

‘Imagine a happy thought. Now, point your wand.’ Scorpius was pretty sure Albus pointed it at him on purpose. He ducked out the way, pushing Albus’ arm towards the window. ‘Now, repeat after me. _Expecto Patronum_.’

Albus said something that had a slight resemblance to the spell. Nothing happened.

‘You could at least try, Potter.’

‘ _Expecto Patronum_.’ A tiny wisp of smoke floated out of his wand, gone before Scorpius could even blink.

‘Happier, Potter. You can do it.’

Albus opened his eyes. There was something in them. A question, maybe, that Scorpius didn’t know the answer to. Or maybe that look _was_ the answer. ‘You really think I can?’

‘Yes. Happy, Potter. Come on. One thing, there has to be one thing that you can think of.’

Albus nodded, then, his eyes still on Scorpius, his knuckles white with the grip he had on his wand, he said the spell. No animal appeared; even Scorpius still struggled making his corporeal all the time. But a strong, white barrier shot out of Albus’ wand, separating him from the rest of the room.

He was laughing when it finally faded.

‘Now repeat after me.’ Scorpius said. ‘Thank you, oh great Malfoy, for proving that I can actually do some things.’ Albus looked down at his hands, as if checking they were really his. ‘So. What was your happy thought?’

That made him look back up. Albus’ wand disappeared back into his pocket as he stared at Scorpius, that question back in his eyes. He squared his shoulders, rung his hands together before forcing them back to his sides. He looked… worried.

‘Albus?’ That question changed to something _more_ and Scorpius knew he had made a mistake. It had been a while since he had started thinking of Albus as, well, as himself, other than just a Potter. But it was one thing thinking the name. Another thing saying it out loud. ‘What-‘

He wasn’t even sure what he was about to ask, but what ever it was faded away as Albus moved quicker than he expected. One second standing on the other side of the room, the next, in front of him. Albus’ lips were on his, warm and soft. Scorpius’ hands went up to Albus’ side. His eyes were wide open, but the other boy was blurred, too close to focus on.

He couldn’t focus on anything other than his lips, anyway.

Is this what he was swapping his life for? A castle, a crown, his name and _birthright_ for a smile from a boy _he should have hated_.

No. He couldn’t – this wasn’t even for him. He was a lie in this world. Albus had said it himself, he was a boy wearing his best friends face. 

Scorpius pushed Albus away, holding a hand up between them. He wasn’t even sure who it was for; Albus, who now looked terrified, or himself, who suddenly felt cold. Alone.

He turned and fled.


	21. Chapter 21

Scorpius found himself at the back of the library, pacing between the shelves to the sound of whispers and frantic scribbling. His heart was still going too fast; he could feel the rapid beat of it in his throat. He could still feel Albus’ lips on his.

Anger rushed through him, rich and raw and overwhelming. Anger at himself; was he really that weak, that one boy, one stupid, _pathetic_ boy could blind him? That it only took a few months and a smile and _Albus Potter_ to wipe away everything he had grown up around?

And then anger at Albus. Though that one was harder to understand. Because Scorpius couldn’t hate him for that… for a kiss, not when it took Scorpius seconds to even pull away.  
He had always known that looks were a weapon, and he had his father's sharp face and pale hair mixed with his mother's soft eyes and gentle smile. He was a weapon crafted to distract, and he had used it plenty in his life. Some, because they already knew who he was. They saw his blond hair and started backing away. Others, he reeled in, made them _care_ then crushed them under his feet while smiling that smile his mother had given him, though her own had never been used for such vicious ways.

But this – Scorpius had never minded who he used his looks on. He had no preference because he did not care about them back. And even when he did care… Avery had been _easy_. She had been the type people expected him to like. And it wasn’t just her blood; Scorpius had liked that she challenged him, liked that under the anger, she was just as intelligent as him. But if his father would have allowed it; if his father even _knew_ , Scorpius would have gone for someone else. He liked Avery. But sometimes it was the other male students that snagged his stare. Even when he knew they were not good enough for him.

But none of that explained the fury he felt. Other than the fact it was _Albus Potter_ who had kissed him. Other than – Scorpius shook his head.

He had been in the library for long enough. It was a hiding place no one would think to look for him in, his aversion to books and actually doing work enough to make the idea of him walking the shelves absurd. And it was too much like the _old_ Scorpius.

His hands clenched at his side, fingernails pushing into his skin. And then he was walking. Long strides through the room, pushing more than one student out of his way, he stormed down the stairs – sometimes he wondered if the school was more than _magical_ , for the stairs barely moved until he was off them again – and too the common room.

He expected it to be difficult to find the boy. Albus shied away from fights. He was bullied so easily because he didn’t stand up for it. So Scorpius expected him to have hidden. But he rounded the corner in the dungeons it was to see Albus sat outside, tapping his fingers against his knees.

Of course he was there. In this, Scorpius had been the coward. But now he wasn’t. Now he was just _furious._

‘You had _no right_.’ He snarled. Albus scrambled to his feet a second before Scorpius reached him. It would have been better to stay sitting; Scorpius pushed him back into the wall, his hands on Albus’ shoulders. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. Not until it rushed from his mouth, making both their eyes widen in shock. ‘I’m not him, Potter. I’m not the boy you knew.’ A bitter laugh. ‘You think I didn’t guess? The way you looked at me, I knew you loved him. But I’m _not him_ and you cannot replace him with me! How _dare_ you kiss me when.’ A pause. But he had come this far. ‘When you wish it was _him_.’

And that was the heart of the matter, the truth that Scorpius hadn’t even wanted to admit to himself.

In his world, he was a king. But that didn’t mean he was loved; his father ignored him, his friends were not really friends and his subjects feared him. 

In this world, he was less than a peasant. His father seemed to be ashamed of him, he had no friend except the boy before him, and he was lost. He wanted to go home – but a part of him knew there was little chance of that happening. He just wanted someone who understood him, who knew him. Who wanted him _for him_.

But he would always be compared to the boy who came before. He would always be less wanted than that Scorpius. 

Albus didn’t reply. Not for a long while. His chest rose and fell under Scorpius hands until he pushed away, disgusted with himself. And still, Albus didn’t say a word, only stared at him with slow blinking eyes. Then, finally ‘You called me Albus earlier.’ 

'That was a mistake.'

They were being watched; Scorpius' outburst had drawn curious students from the common room. He saw them out of the corner of his eye, some looking half amused, others, with their wands out, looking like they were ready to step in at any moment. But as long as they didn't interfere, they didn't matter. Nothing mattered, other than the boy in front of him and the storm of emotion inside of him.

'Why?' There was challenge in Albus' eyes, reckless bravery in his voice that told them both that he was far more like his father than they wanted to admit.

'Because it gave you _ideas_.'

Albus laughed. 'No. _You_ gave me ideas, Scorp. You gave me hope. You - '

'You asked me to teach you. I taught you. You brought me back my wand, I owed you a favour. That was all.'

'You don't believe that.' No, he didn't. But that didn't mean Albus had to know. 'Seriously, Scorp-

'I am not your friend!' Albus' eyes flared wide again, and it took Scorpius a moment to realise why; his wand was back in his hand, pointed at the other boy. He heard a whisper, a shuffle of footsteps and knew he had only moments before they got a teacher down here. 'Stop comparing me to him. Stop treating me like him! Stop acting as if I will suddenly turn back into the boy you loved!'

'I wasn't.'

'Don't _lie_ to me.'

'I wasn't pretending it was him. I _know_ you, Scorpius.'

'Shut up.'

'Or what?' Maybe he should have been in Gryffindor, after all. 'You'll shut me up? Go on then, Scorpius.' Albus spread his arms wide. 'Do your worst. It's not like I'm not used to it.'  
Scorpius stared at him. His arm shook slightly. He didn't even know what he was doing - he wasn't sure what was worse, that Albus was lying or if he was telling the truth. He opened his mouth to say something but before he could, a flash of green moved from his side, knocking him off balance. He stumbled, one step, two, and it was enough for a prefect to get between him and Albus. 

If he didn't even know what he was doing, to them, it was a mystery. They may all laugh at Albus, sneer at him and bully him, but he was the worse of the two. No one would let the son of a Death Eater, a supporter of Voldemort, lash out at the son of the boy who saved their version of the world.

'That's enough.' The prefect said.

'No it's not.' Scorpius snapped.

'I'm not scared of you, Malfoy. If you want a detention, keep going.'

'No.' Albus pushed past the prefect. 'Don't. He wasn't going to do anything.'

'Trying to protect me, Potter?'

Albus scowled, pushed the prefect out the way, grabbed Scorpius' arm - his skin was warm and Scorpius felt it like a burn - and dragged him round the crowd and into the common room.

Scorpius shook him off, stepping away, but Albus still wasn't done. He glowered at the few remaining in the room. 'Out.' They didn't move. 'Now!'

The room was empty in seconds. Albus pulled out his wand, muttered ' _wingardium leviosa_ ' and Scorpius watched as the chairs, tables and various other things floated up and barricaded the doors. Scorpius wasn't sure if it was to keep them in, or everyone else out.

That done, and with the portraits watching in stunned silence, Albus swung around to face him. ‘You don’t get to tell me what I was thinking.’ He wasn’t even shouting; somehow it made it worse. ‘You’ve said this to me before, Scorpius, and I’m going to say it to you. Don’t judge me by your standards.’

‘I know not to do that.’ Scorpius was born to be who he was; his mother had always tried to gentle him, but his was a world where only the strongest survived. Albus was the other side. He was a boy with more strength in him than he knew, and nowhere to put it. His world was already peaceful, their wars settled through words, not spells. Scorpius loved the world he had grown up in. Albus would never have survived it. But… ‘You _kissed_ me.’

His ears were red, his cheeks darkening to the same colour. ‘Yes.’

‘Was that what you were thinking of? I teach you a spell and you think of a happy thought, one of you and _your_ Scorpius?’

A laugh that was little more than a breath of air. Scorpius was the one cornered now; Albus was only inches away from him, his head tilted up slightly to meet Scorpius’ eyes. ‘Is that what this is? You’re jealous… of yourself.’ A pause. ‘That’s a sentence I never thought I would say.’

‘Potter-‘

‘I prefer Albus.’ He said it in the same tone he had said _I don’t like that word_ all that time ago. Mild and soft, but Scorpius knew it for the order it was. Then, his response had been a gentle reminder of who he was. But it was different now. 

‘ _Albus._ ’ The other boy smiled. ‘I never expected to stay here.’ He shut his eyes. ‘You were never even meant to exist. You’re a product of a confused timeline. The Scorpius you knew was never actually real.’

‘Doesn’t stop you being jealous of him.’ He could still hear the smile. ‘Do you want to know a truth, Scorp? There’s nothing for you to be jealous of.’

‘But-‘ He still had his eyes shut. And he kept them shut, even when he felt the press of Albus’ hand on his chest. Eyes betrayed too much. Almost as much as the beating of a heart.

‘That Scorpius was my best friend and I did love him. Or I thought I did. But I wasn’t thinking of him. I wasn’t pretending you were him. I wasn’t comparing you to him, or any other argument you’re going to try and throw at me.’ A sigh. ‘I gave you your wand back because I knew you wouldn’t hurt me, Scorpius. Behind that whole world you grew up in, after thinking you knew everything about my family… you learnt, you changed, and you can deny it all you like but you became friends with me. You _learnt_ , Scorp. That’s what I was thinking of, more than anything.’

‘You’re an idiot.’ 

‘You’ve said that before. Doesn’t mean what I’m saying isn’t true.’

‘You don’t know me.’

‘I know enough. And I have time to learn, just like you have.’ Albus stepped away. ‘You want to know what my happy memory was, Scorpius? It wasn’t a memory. It was… I showed you what it was. And you ran away.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Don’t.’ He felt the urge to run again, to escape. To close up and run back to a time before he was stupid enough to talk to this boy. But he was trapped. ‘Don’t do this. I’m not… I’m not _good_ Albus.’ He laughed. ‘I was raised to hate everything about you. The Dark Lord would kill me for this. Dephi… Aunt Bellatrix… my father would kill me if he knew about this.’

‘Your father.’

‘The one that raised me.’ Albus was silent for long enough that Scorpius grew worried. ‘What?’

‘You need to talk to him. Your father. Because underneath… you’re not that different to the Scorpius I knew. So your father…’ Albus shook his head. ‘Come on.’ 

Albus took a step back, and Scorpius felt like he could breathe again. But he followed as Albus crossed the room to the fire. He pulled a bag of powder out of his pocket.

‘Stealing, Potter? I have been a bad influence on you.’

‘Shut up.’ Taking a handful out, Albus passed the bag to him. ‘Follow me, Scorpius.’ He stepped in the fire, threw the powder down and said ‘Malfoy Cottage.’ And was gone.  
With a sigh, and a glance at the portraits – who would be running off to tell McGonagall the second the room was empty – he followed suit.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... really short bad chapter but work, mixed with another heatwave (I can't write when its this hot!), mixed with me actually working on my *actual* novel means I may have forgotten to write it until about half an hour ago.

At first glance, the house looked the same as the one Scorpius had lived in. It was curiously sparse; anyone who visited might even wonder of people stepped foot inside it sometimes. 

It was only at the soft ‘Scorpius’ that he looked close enough to see what the differences were. His heart threatened to break as he looked towards the sound to see a smiling portrait of his mother looking down on him.

His father had raised him never to show weakness, but his mother had always been the chink in his father's armour. And when she died, when his father realised that his armour was forever damaged, he tried to lock it away. Every picture of her around the house disappeared between one day and the next. The only time Scorpius had seen one in the last few years was the day he snuck into his father's office, to see the smiling photos stuck on the walls.

But though they moved, they were not charmed with the _idea_ of his mother. They were a snapshot of a memory. 

The portrait, that was a snapshot of a person. A soft smile on her face, cheeks pinker than Scorpius ever remembered them in life, his mother wasn’t alive but she was here, watching him.

‘Mother.’ He whispered.

Albus raised a hand and waved at the portrait. ‘Hi Astoria.’ He said, as if it was normal. As if he didn’t realise Scorpius could barely feel the floor beneath his feet.

But he did; Scorpius had underestimated the boy before, but no longer. He saw far more than he let on, and Scorpius felt a hand on his back before Albus left the room. A tap ran a second later. Albus giving him a chance to breath. To talk to her.

‘You seem to have grown every time you come back.’

He didn’t know what to say to that; he remembered the last time he saw her, sat by her bed with a hand little more than bone clutched in his. Only a few years ago, but he had been younger then. He had been a prince then, not a king. And she had kept the softer side of him safe.

His mother had always been the heart of the family.

‘Why?’ He asked suddenly, not understanding so much – how in both worlds, his father had found someone as gentle as her. How he had made her love him. ‘Why did you love him, mother? He’s so… opposite to you’

A soft laugh. ‘Oh, my child. He and you have never understood each other, but you should not judge him for what you don’t see. He married me, Scorpius, even when his own parents didn’t like that idea. When we were younger, he used to take me flying – something no one else would ever do when I was too weak. He didn’t see me as ill, Scorpius, he saw me as me. That’s why.’

‘But-‘

Her head turned, looking at something outside of her frame. Scorpius had grown up with portraits who talked and walked and were occasionally empty for weeks at a time. But he never understood them; he _liked_ the strange mystery that even wizards didn’t understand – what the world behind a portrait looked like. ‘Your father is home.’

‘Shouldn’t he be at work?’ Scorpius couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. Was this what the Scorpius from this world had? A memory of a mother. And a father who actually cared?

‘Scorpius.’

Whatever his mother was going to say was lost when a sharp _crack_ filled the air. Delphi appeared in front of Scorpius, her eyes scanning him up and down before she strode out of the room. 

It didn’t take long for there to be raised voices, Delphi’s sharp one against the low drone of his fathers. Albus appeared in the doorway again, a glass in his hand, a question on his face. Scorpius shrugged.

‘You don’t understand!’ Delphi shouted then. ‘He’s not-‘

‘ _If you have harmed my son-_ '

‘Might want to go and stop a war, Scorp.’ Albus said quietly. ‘I don’t know about your world but your father hates Delphi here.’

‘Why stop the fun, Potter.’

‘Because they are your family.’

‘Get out of my way.’

Scorpius sighed. ‘Come on then.’ He said to the other boy before following Delphi’s voice. The house was exactly the same as his in layout. Strange, how two completely different worlds had pockets of similarities in the madness. He threw open the door to his fathers study – now that was completely different – and the two inside fell silent. ‘Hello, father.’


	23. Chapter 23

A small part of Scorpius was surprised at how _similar_ his father looked. He didn’t know what to expect; he had heard enough about the other version of himself to think that maybe his father was the same. Lost and quiet and pathetic. But his father had never been that, apparently not even in this world. 

Despite how similar he looked, Scorpius had to remind himself that it wasn’t really his father. A copy. A twin. _Something_ but not his father. And it was proved more by the study behind him.

There were still books piled up everywhere, some half burnt or with covers missing. There were still photos plastering every wall. Some with red crosses through them.  
But the titles of the books were different. These were the books he had been raised with. And these were not cared for; there were markers in some of them, some with papers pinned to the front in his father’s handwriting. Scorpius wasn’t near enough to read what most of them said, but the name _Potter_ lay at the top of most of them.

And the photos… Scorpius could have named most of them. Could have said, in his world, where they lived, where they met up. Merlin’s beard, he had grown up with most of their children. Children that probably didn’t even exist here.

The same. But so, so different.

The pictures of him were still up everywhere, though the Scorpius in them was _less_. This world’s Scorpius didn’t take over the picture. His presence in them was almost non-existent. He hid behind books or trees or even his mother, blushing at the camera as if he wanted to fade away. 

‘How have you survived?’ Scorpius drawled, his eyes finally leaving the walls to face his father. ‘With a son as embarrassing as the one you raised?’

A flinch so small he would have missed it if he wasn’t staring at the man. But it wasn’t his father who spoke, nor was it Delphi.

‘Scorp.’ There was enough in Albus’ voice that Scorpius actually glanced behind him, shrugging. 

‘What’s going on?’

Delphi chuckled. ‘The answer to that is something you will never believe.’ She leant against the wall, crossing her arms.

Scorpius scowled at her. ‘Last time we met you were extraordinarily _less_ than you are now. Then, of course, you knocked me out.’

‘Scorpius, answer me now.’ 

He ignored his father. ‘Tell me, Delphi, if you’re so _perfect_ in this world, why are you even here?’

‘Minnie thought you might kill someone.’ A low laugh. ‘You two are in so much trouble. I’m thinking _detention for life_ trouble.’

Albus muttered something under his breath. Scorpius knew that if he turned around, it would be to see Albus running his hand through his hair. But then the other boy pushed him out of the way. ‘What’s going on is that your son changed what happened in the past. We weren’t meant to be here, Mr Malfoy. I wasn’t meant to be here. Scorpius comes from a future that… neither of us would ever want.’

His father went pale. ‘Potter, I know your uncle thinks jokes are good-‘

‘It’s not a joke.’ Scorpius said. ‘This,’ he waved his hands around, ‘is not right. You’re not meant to be laughed at. I’m not meant to be _pathetic_. I was a king, father, and you… you were head of Magical Enforcement. We stood at the right hand side of the Dark Lord and we were _perfect._ ’

‘No.’

‘Believe me, father, I would much rather be back there too.’

‘Thanks.’ Muttered words from Albus. Scorpius ignored him.

His father took a step back, still looking too pale. Delphi stepped forward as if to help him, but he flinched from her touch. Scorpius was the only one that noticed her face turn completely expressionless before she leant back against the wall. Delphi - _his_ Delphi, and his father got on in his world. In this one, it seemed, less so.

But Scorpius still took the shock for a good thing. That he could be more. Better. ‘We can get it back, father. I just need to get the time turner back.’

‘ _No_.’ It was a gasp, wrenched from his father’s lips. ‘You think… You want. Scorpius. Every story I’ve ever told you, and you think that is _better_?’

‘The only stories you have ever told me are the ones of the Dark Lord.’

‘Then whatever you were raised with was wrong.’ There was so much horror, so much anger in this father’s voice that Scorpius looked at Albus, looking for an answer. There was only one on Albus’ face; that he knew this was exactly what he expected. ‘You think I want Voldemort back, Scorpius, when he destroyed my childhood? My parents, teaching me that I was better than everyone else when I wasn’t. Having to watch them be afraid when He returned, because he knew they were no longer loyal to him?’ His hands were clenched so tightly they were white. ‘I could have been _happy_ , Scorpius, if not for him ever existing. I would still have my friends – I would have had _different_ friends,’ a look to Albus that had the other boy smiling faintly. ‘I would have been different and I wouldn’t wake up _still_ thinking I was back there, watching so many people die around me. Watching my own family murder children.’

Scorpius stared at him. Once, when he was younger, he had woken to the gentle tones of his mother. He had crept down the hall to look into their room to see his father looking almost frail, his mother rubbing his back as she spoke. He had never mentioned it. His father had never said.

But sometimes, when Scorpius had been at home for the holidays, he had heard his father pacing up and down the house late at night.

‘Father-‘

‘Get out.’ _Never show weakness._ That was the unspoken Malfoy motto, part of why his grandparents had never liked his mother.

‘No.’

‘If none of you are going to fight, I’m going to tell Minnie you two are just idiots.’ Delphi pushed off the wall.

But Scorpius held his hand up. ‘Wait.’ His mind was spinning, thinking down a thousand routes, ideas, thoughts, as they stared at him.

What was he giving up? A kingdom, a family, acceptance, and power. What was he gaining? Memories of his mother. A father who _talked_ without always bringing up their name. Laughter and hate and being the lowest of the food chain. Friendship. Freedom.

Albus.

‘Tell McGonagall she doesn’t have to worry.’ He saw Delphi’s eyes flair up in surprise. Saw his father raise his head again. ‘I promise you nothing. Nothing at all. I’m not going to change, you do not get to force your thoughts on me. But you are all right.’ Shock, even from Albus. ‘I know only what I have grown up with. And I have no way home. Teach me what you have grown up with.’

A smile from the boy he should have hated, and something else. Something Scorpius missed; he didn’t get a chance to decipher it, not when Albus unashamedly grabbed the front of his shirt and stood on his toes to kiss him.

Distantly, Scorpius could head Delphi laughing. Hear his father mutter something about _of course my son got a Potter_. But he wasn’t sure if he cared. He just knew there was going to be no more running. Yet.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, nine months is admittedly a bit longer than my normal update times but... lets see if I can finish this, shall we? I reread last night and found all my notes and plans - I hope I've at least kept some of the character development right!

Scorpius and his father spoke well into the evening. It was awkward and stilted; two people raised without knowing how to speak to the other, raised to never show their care.  
But they were speaking. 

Albus left them after the first hour, when he felt neither would go after the other – with spellwork or insults- though he didn’t leave the house. Scorpius could hear his footsteps above him, his murmurs as he spoke to the portraits of dead family members. He would never admit it, but the sound of Albus’ presence there gave him courage to speak.

Delphi had left earlier, laughter still loud, Scorpius’ cheeks still red. No doubt their headmistress would know almost instantly about the change in… relationships. It wouldn’t change much, and Scorpius was almost apprehensive to find out what she would think, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Except, he thought with that sly part of himself that was still his nature, if they thought him changing, they would not watch as closely.

Albus may have gained some of his respect, but that didn’t mean the rest of the school had. Their time was coming, a test they had no idea how to pass. The opposite to a coronation – instead of seeing if he deserved the crown, he was seeing if they deserved _him_ there.

‘In your world,’ his father said, the words careful. Quiet. Scorpius wasn’t used to quietness in his father. ‘I… is your mother…’

Scorpius shook his head, and a light inside his father’s eyes disappeared. Hope – what an awful thing that was. It made so many forget how the world really was. In his world, it gave the resistance the belief they would win – and got them caught quicker.

In this world… for his father, it was always the same.

‘She was always the best of us both,’ his father said. ‘She was too good for me, and I always strove to be better. For her. I wouldn’t be what you said I am, son. Not after-‘

‘After what?’

A pause, and Scorpius felt like he was being sized up. ‘What do you know of my own time at Hogwarts?’

‘You joined the Dark Lord when he returned, along with the rest of our family. You were given the honour to kill Dumbledore. You are one of the Dark Lords most trusted because of it. That’s why-‘ his father was chuckling in a way that meant the opposite to humour. The time of laughter when there was something so wrong, there was no other way to react.

Scorpius had seen it himself. On the tip of breaking point, the traitors would laugh despite their pain. Despite everything. It was often around that moment they were deemed as _no longer useful._

‘What?’ Scorpius asked.

‘After he returned, he came to us.’ There was something so lost in his fathers voice. In this world he lacked that regal air, the one that silenced all people around him. He was smaller, his shoulders stopped. He was, Scorpius thought, watching the flickers in his eyes, the stillness as he spoke, far more human here. ‘Not because we were the trusted ones, Scorpius. But because we were the least trusted. My parents didn’t care which side they were on by then – they’d already seen one war and didn’t want another. I was given this,’ he tapped the sleeve on his arm – and the Dark Mark hidden beneath, ‘to keep my parents in line. It was not an humour, son, it was _punishment_ because the Dark Lord knew. All I wanted was to grow up. Leave school. Find friends who actually cared. Like Potter and his. Like you – from this world – and Albus. I didn’t want to fight, I didn’t care about them. I just wanted to survive.’

‘But-‘

‘I knew that when I was a child, Scorpius. No matter how the world turned out, I know I would not be that loyal to him.’

‘You don’t know yourself as well as you think.’

‘Or you don’t know me as well as you think.’

Scorpius opened his mouth to argue – then shut it. He leant back in the chair and stared at his father, his mind working.

He’d never seen it. Of course he hadn’t; his father had grown up putting on whatever face was expected of him. His mother had been the best of them both – and his father would never have forgotten that. 

All those times Scorpius had heard their whispered arguments, seen the terrified look in his mothers eyes.

The books in his study. The harsh words. The anger that always simmered under his skin whenever he looked at Scorpius.

It wasn’t disappointment that Scorpius wasn’t perfect – it was disappointment that Scorpius was too loyal.

‘I didn’t kill Dumbledore. I have… in this world I have never killed a single person. And I never plan to. I don’t know what differences there are in your world, but that wouldn’t change.’

Scorpius stood up suddenly, unable to process it all sitting still. He knew what happened to those that crossed the Dark Lord. Traitors were one thing. The friends of Harry Potter still clinging to that _hope_. But those thought loyal that broke their trust – Scorpius had only ever seen one of them after the first round of… questioning. They’d been less human and more a concept of one.

He and his father may not have seen eye to eye on everything. But he didn’t want that on a family member. He didn’t want the stain of the word _traitor_ against his own name.

‘You’re nothing in this world,’ Scorpius snapped.

His father only smiled. ‘I have a reluctant friend in Harry Potter. I work for the ministry. I am a father. I have what I need. Even if its not a title. Not respect. After the war, the people I went to school with would look at me with mistrust. I still get judged on the past – there are many who hate me because of what I represent to them. But that doesn’t matter. I had your mother. And I had you.’

‘And if you’re anything like the father I know, you didn’t tell me that.’

‘No. There are many things I didn’t tell the son I knew. But I’m telling you.’

‘That’s not the same.’

‘You’re still my son. And I will love you, no matter what. You will make mistakes, you will chose the wrong side. You will kiss a _Potter_. And I will still love you.’

‘I need to go.’ Only half a lie. But he couldn’t just stand there and listen to it all, act like his own world was crumbling under his feet.

Even if he returned – it wouldn’t be the same. There were some truths you couldn’t hide, and Scorpius would be more likely to get his father into trouble. He didn’t even know if he could look at that father again – so strong and loyal and dangerous and a _traitor_.

‘Son-‘

‘Don’t call me that.’ He strode from the room, away from the man calling his name again, in a strange broken tone that he hated. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t pretend.

He ran up the stairs and found Albus; the other boy looked at him, questions in his eyes that Scorpius couldn’t answer. 

‘We’re going back to Hogwarts. Now.’

‘Scorp-‘

‘Don’t.’

Albus moved, as if to reach out, but Scorpius flinched away from the touch. His hand fell, and hurt flashed across Albus’ face – so readable, his expressions, every one of them – but Scorpius didn’t know what he was meant to do or say to change that. He wasn’t _made_ for things like this.


	25. Chapter 25

Trouble wasn’t the right word for what Albus and Scorpius ended up in. Albus saw the fury in McGonagall’s eyes, but he saw the fear as well – Dephi may have told her they were safe, but she had lived through Wizarding wars. Only a generation ago, she’d said goodbye to children and only found them dead later on the battlefield.

 She’d been furious, stripping Slytherin of most of their well earnt points, and putting the pair in detention for, Albus was sure, the rest of their lives – since she had also contacted his father.

That had almost been as much fun as the conversation with McGonagall.

At least it mixed up the normal; confused disappointment got boring sometimes. Disappointing anger was _clearly_ a better emotion from his dad.

And at least it matched the rest of his house; when he and Scorpius traipsed back into the common room, it was to be faced with the accusatory glares that he, at least, was already used to.

He expected Scorpius to do something, to say something to them all and land them into something worse.

He didn’t.

And he’d been remarkably quiet in the long days since. Up well before Albus and out of the dorm. Lessons were spent with eyes staring out of the windows – teachers acted as if he wasn’t there. Mealtimes, Albus wondered if he was even eating.

He was sure he liked Scorpius’ hate more than this. At least hate was an _emotion_ , something directed towards him. The treatment he was getting now – it was worse than indifference. Especially after he had taken that first step. Maybe it was harder, now his heart was far more involved – even when his head said it was _far too early_  to think like that.

He’d been half in love with Scorpius for a few years. Only half – Scorpius was his best friend, and the other half adored the friendship they’d already had. But this Scorpius was different. A little less bookish but just as smart. Slightly more – much more – fearless, unpredictable. And under that – Albus’ Scorpius was his best friend.

This Scorpius… could be more.

If he would actually talk.

Albus had tried. Their detentions were together; McGonagall had given them possibly the worst thing she could – to clean and polish every trophy in the school, and each of the countless frames of portraits.

The latter was the more annoying task. At least silence could be excused for working on the trophies. Scorpius barely even replied to the portraits when they talked, leaving Albus to deal with their bad tempered comments and insults as he worked.

He didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them. Albus had never been great with words, especially with ones of comfort. And Scorpius – this Scorpius – wasn’t likely to accept those words.

More than once, Albus woke to find Scorpius lying in the bed opposite him, watching quietly. More than once, Albus opened his mouth to say something, for the other boy to roll over and ignore him.

Albus let him brood for a week and a half before he’d had enough. They were walking out of Defence Against the Dark Arts when Albus grabbed his arm, stopping him from storming off like he’d done in every other lesson. He’d kept his promise – he hadn’t fought. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d sat and he’d watched and he’d listened to everything around him. His promise of _nothing_  - Albus was sure it meant more than this.

‘Get off,’ Scorpius said quietly, after everyone else in the room had parted around them and left. He looked at Albus’ hand, rather than his face. But he made no move away. ‘Albus-‘

‘Talk to me.’

‘There’s nothing to talk about.’

‘Yeah, and I’m my father’s favourite son.’

‘Bitter, Potter?’

‘Deflecting, Scorp?’

Scorpius looked at him then, and there was so much _anger_  in his gaze. Behind the swirling maze of confusion, or being lost. It didn’t scare Albus – because it wasn’t aimed at him. Monsters more often than not lived inside the brain, invisible to the outside world.

‘I’m fine.’

‘What happened with your father?’

‘He’s not _my_  father.’

A snort. ‘That’s like me saying dad isn’t my dad just because in your world, he died before I could be born.’

‘That’s different.’

‘You’re far more stubborn than my Scorpius.’ The expression on Scorpius face turned external, his eyes narrowing. Albus chuckled. ‘Jealousy doesn’t look good on you.’

‘Who said I was jealous?’

‘The glare when I called the other Scorpius _mine_.’

‘I don’t care what you call me.’

‘Sure about that?’ It wasn’t what he wanted to talk about – what they needed to talk about – but this was better than nothing. And it took that terrible emptiness away from Scorpius’ eyes.

‘You were the one to kiss me.’

‘And you didn’t exactly complain.’

A smirk, then a hand over his own, prying off the fingers gently. ‘Leave me alone, Potter.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’ They were late for their next lesson - Albus could hear students outside waiting to come into the classroom. Scorpius used it to his advantage – when they started walking in, he strode out. Albus ran to catch up, staying only a step behind.

It didn’t take long for Scorpius to realise Albus wasn’t going to give up. He signed, changed directions suddenly and pushed into an unused classroom. He crossed his arms as he turned to glare at Albus. ‘What?’

‘Something your father said terrified you.’

‘I don’t get scared, Albus. I’m a _king_  remember? Nothing could scare me.’

‘Lie to the rest of the school all you want. Please don’t lie to me. I deserve more than that.’

Scorpius titled his head to the side slightly, that smirk still in place. Albus knew it was there to intimidate him. It didn’t. ‘You’ve gained a backbone, Potter, when did that happen? What happened to the boy telling me I’d stolen his best friend’s face?’

Albus raised his own chin, cheeks flushing, but voice bold as he answered. ‘He started to fall in love.’ A wild declaration, but it was all he could think of saying.

‘That’s unfortunate.’

Albus flinched, then froze – because Scorpius was being horrible, and he _didn’t mean a word of it_. Albus should know, he was an expert and building walls between him and the rest of the world. He had them between him and the students, to block out the laughter when he did something wrong, between him and his father, to block out how different they were. Between him and everyone who saw his surname and got disappointed at the boy who held it.

Scorpius was pushing him away in the only way he knew how – by reverting back to what he had been when he ended up there. The only problem was, Scorpius was much better than Albus at what he did.

The Scorpius before – he was terrible. Couldn’t act at all, instead he hid himself in books and knowledge, as if that would stop a bullies curse. But he had been raised in a world that hated his name and his father.

This Scorpius was raised in a world where he was loved and adored – and utterly feared. Every word he said was probably well thought out to cultivate that. He knew weapons were more than just a wand wave, and he was dangerous with both.

‘If you’re done with your temper tantrum,’ Albus said, taking a step forward – and keeping a small victory when Scorpius retreated, ‘and the dramatics-‘

‘Says the one trying to declare his love.’

Another step, crowding him into the corner. ‘-and the bad mood, and the pouting, and-‘

‘My father’s a traitor.’

_Checkmate_  he wanted to say. He’d pushed the king until he could be pushed no more – Albus would never ignore the little victories. ‘In which world?’

Am almost bored look. ‘Do I care about this one?’

‘If we’re being honest-‘

‘Everything I was raised with, Albus. My whole life, built on the foundation that my family were _royalty_. We were the best. And all this time he’s been working against us.’

‘Are you actually angry about that, or are you ashamed of your own actions compared to his?’

‘Every person I know from my own world. Albus. I see them here and they are…’ he shook his head, looking so young – but Albus wasn’t going to let him off easily. Not with this. Not with the very fact that all the fear, all the anger – it meant he was _thinking_.

‘More similar than you expected?’ Scorpius nodded. ‘They’re the same people, Scorp. No matter the future, the heart stays the same. The morals stay the same. None of us are completely good or bad – we make mistakes, we try to correct them. We try to be better people and sometimes we fail. Aren’t you proof of that?’

‘I’m not _good_ , Albus.’

‘You’re more good than you thought – or else you and this words Scorpius would have been two completely different people. Maybe he was the best you could be, and before, you were the worst. You’re becoming a mix of them both.’

‘Stop it.’

‘No.’

‘I can’t, Albus. If I change, then if I go back… I’d be deemed the traitor. I can’t, because if I go back, how can I look my father in the eyes and know he is one? So many people I know, every single one of them could be traitors.’

‘And would that be that bad?’

‘Traitors die.’

‘Better dying than living in that world.’

‘Dramatic.’

‘I learnt from you,’ Albus lowered his voice, mimicking Scorpius. ‘ _To have the rightful world restored and for all traitors like you to have your end_.’

‘I don’t know what to do, Albus.’

‘Don’t run from me.’ It came out more a plea than it was meant to. ‘If you’re scared, worried, whatever. Please, Scorpius. Talk to me.’ He smiled, slightly questioning. ‘And maybe…’

The corners of Scorpius’ own lips tilted, a little less than the smirk it used to be. Then he reached out – no hesitation, no pausing, his haughty confidence always so much more that Albus’, even when so lost – and pulled Albus forwards. He tucked his forehead into the crook of Albus’ head and took a breath in.

Albus was sure he heard a whispered apology in the silence. But this was Scorpius – and Albus wasn’t sure which part of this all it was for.


	26. Chapter 26

 

McGonagall had been teaching for long enough to spot the undercurrents of trouble in the corridors. She prided herself on knowing where it started and how to stop it – but the trouble wasn’t originating from where she expected it now.

No.

Scorpius Malfoy had been almost quiet recently - it was the other students she was now worried about. She’d hoped they would all forget the Slytherin – rumours were abound in school, but they normally passed quietly along after a week or so.

But this was too much, it seemed. The war and anger too raw, and children had no one to take it out on. No one to talk about it with – their parents were the ones who stared down the face of death and survived, and the children saw the scars without knowing how to deal with it.

She would have to deal with them soon.

But theirs was not the only trouble brewing. No, there was more important trouble, in the form of an ex student who broke her heart every time she saw him.

Harry managed to silence the corridors whenever he strode down them. Students paused to stare at him, then whisper behind their hands while he pretended not to hear. How McGonagall wished he could lead a life where his name, his face, his scar didn't invoke such excitement - she'd hoped, after the war, it would die down, but Harry and the others from his year were heroes.

His named had been known from that terrible day, and it would be spoken long after they were all dead.

Now though, now, those whispers from students were worried; Harry’s face was like thunder, his strides long as he strode towards her.

‘Professor,’ he said as he reached her, ‘may we talk?’

He’d grown so much over the years, into himself and his future. But still, he was that tired teenager she always saw first, the one who never expected to have that future. ‘Of course, Mr Potter.’ _Harry_  he was, when they were at meals, but in the school, she couldn’t help but revert back to her old ways. She was the same with all her students, young or old.

She turned and matched off, knowing by the wide eyed looks of the students around her that he was following. She went to her office, climbing up the stairs to open the door – where she stopped.

By one of the bookshelves, Rose Granger-Weasley  looked up, wide eyed and worried. ‘Headmistress.’ Much like the Harry and his children, the Granger-Weasley family had integrated McGonagall into their ranks not long after the war. Sometimes, McGonagall wondered how much Hermione saw; if the deaths weighed as heavy on the Minsters shoulders as they did on her own. ‘I didn’t – I wanted to talk to you.’

‘What’s wrong?’

Rose shook her head, eyes flicking between the two adults. ‘Not important. I’ll come back.’

She was almost at the door when McGonagall called her back. ‘Your bag?’ she said, pointing at the shoulder bag on the chair. Rose flushed, running to pick it up before she disappeared.

McGonagall had been a teacher for long enough to know there was something more to the girl being there – but Rose was one of the quietest from the two families.

‘What can I do for you, Harry?’

‘You _knew_ ,’ he said to her. ‘Minerva, you put my son in danger and you didn’t tell me. Tell us.’

She sighed. Sometimes she wondered what it would be like to retire, to have nothing but silence around her. Nice – for a while. Though much preferred to this. ‘I take it you have spoken to Mr Malfoy then?’

‘His son thinks I should be dead and you let him near _my son_.’

‘Scorpius thought you should be dead, Harry. When he first… appeared as he is. But you would notice Albus is still alive and happy-‘

‘You put him in danger!’

‘And what would you rather me do, keep them apart?’ She regretted the words as soon as they were out, for Harry got the look on his face that she knew well, that he always got when he was angry and knew exactly what he wanted to do.

‘Yes.’

‘No.’

‘Albus should never have spoken to Scorpius in the first place. I should have stopped this in the first year – before all this.’

‘Even after you and Draco become friends, Harry, and you still have prejudice over his family?’

‘Albus should have been in _our_  house.’

‘And it is that reason why I refuse to stop him from talking to his friend – because you will not.’

Harry had always been reckless. It was, McGonagall knew, one of the many weaknesses most children of Gryffindor had. Bravery in their hearts, recklessness in their emotions. They jumped into battle without thought and forgot that life was so easily extinguished. They jumped into arguments with no thought of the other side.

‘Professor.’ She knew that tone so well. Had heard it in so many children over the years. And adults. ‘I know you think you are doing your job, but you do not understand. You-‘

‘Remus Lupin,’ she said quietly. ‘Nymphadora Tonks. Colin Creevey. Lavender Brown. I can keep going, Harry, if you want. If you think I do not understand the danger.’

He’d flinched, slightly, with every name, and she knew she wasn’t the only one that still saw them all in her head so often. They had died, after all, protecting him.

Just as he had meant to die for all of them.

‘Scorpius Malfoy was harmless, Minerva. That’s why I allowed their friendship. Why I allowed Draco into our lives. But this Scorpius is not. For all you know, he could be planning to try and bring back what the Death Eaters wanted!’

‘He’s fifteen.’

‘Age doesn’t stop evil.’

‘Nor does it decrease stupidity, Mr Potter.’

He slammed a piece of parchment down on her desk. Old and creased, but she knew what it was. The parchment that had gotten some of her favourite – not that she was meant to admit it – students in and out of trouble throughout the years. ‘Take the map. Make sure they do not spend time together.’

McGonagall knew not to react to that statement; the newfound _thing_  between the two boys – that, like all Hogwarts secrets, was known school wide – was not her secret to tell. And she would not admit to knowing it herself, until one of them was happy to approach her.

But she didn’t need their secret to tell her old student no. ‘You wish to drive your son further away from you?

‘Albus-‘

‘Has no one else in this school other than Scorpius. Has no one else he can talk to that will _listen_  to him, Harry. You wont – you haven’t listened or seen Albus in a few years. You treat him like you do James, but they are not the same. And everyone else treats him like he doesn’t belong in your family.’

‘Professor-‘

‘You wonder why he spends the holidays here, when you demand I _use the map_  to keep an eye on him?’

‘He is my son, I want to protect him.’

‘You cannot protect the world, Harry. Not from physical danger. Maybe you should be trying to protect his heart from any more injury.’

‘I didn’t come here to get a lesson in parenting, Minerva.’

She smiled. ‘But teaching is what I do, Harry.’

He didn’t smile back. Instead, he picked up the map and took a step back. ‘I don’t know what else I’m meant to do. If – what if he’s hurt?’

‘Scorpius has been teaching him.’ His eyes widened slightly. ‘Yes. The boy you think is evil has been teaching your son the things he could not pick up in lessons. Albus will get hurt, that is the way of life. But he will heal, and I believe Scorpius will be there to help, not hinder that.’

‘Your getting soft in your old age, Minerva.’

‘I can still take points from Gryffindor for you if you want, Harry.’

He smiled at that, and she knew the danger had passed – though she also knew there would be more of a ministry presence around the school to watch, in whatever way he could manage. Even if it was just him popping on for a chat every week.

But she was Headmistress. He was still one of hers, even grown up – they all were.

‘Look after them, Minerva.’

‘Always.’ He never needed to ask. She would never let her school be flooded in so much blood again. This generation would know nothing of fear or death in the way their parents had.

She hoped.


	27. Chapter 27

Rose Granger-Weasley was not a patient person. She hadn’t been growing up, as she itched to go to the school she knew would teach her greatness, and she hadn’t been in her first year, when they told her the rules would stop her from joining the quidditch team.

Rules had been broken for – and by – her parents, and they would do the same for her.

But something went wrong in that first year. Her best friend stood to the sidelines and befriended a Malfoy, then got put into the wrong house. Rose was alone – other than for the simpering people that wanted to be her friend for her _name_  and not for her.

She’d never quite forgiven Albus for that. Not when her impatience was for going to school with him, for having great adventures with him. He’d gone and ruined it.

And now it was her time to sort it all out. This was her adventure, and she may not have had real friends around her to help, but she was stood in a room of people wearing all four colours of the school – and they were, for once, united.

There was a heavy weight in her bag, one that pulled at her shoulders every time she picked it up. She hadn’t told the others yet, what she’d done and what she’d stolen – if she told them, their plans would change. Worsen.

No, there were no friends to Rose in this room, there was only the lingering effects of evil, masked beneath fear and anger. But they were nearer to friends to her, than they were to the boy who’d come from a different present.

‘Everyone else has forgotten,’ the bitter voice of a Hufflepuff spoke up – Rose hadn’t bothered learning all their names – singing the tune of what had been said for a few weeks now. Probably longer. Rose had only started tagging along when she realised where everyone was going in the evenings. ‘But he still looks at us like we’re nothing to him.’

Rose was pretty sure their own Scorpius had looked that way too; though it had been less about everyone else and more about himself. The Scorpius now... Rose had seen the way he looked at Albus. Everyone else was nothing to him, but it was more because Albus really was the only thing that mattered.

‘He has to learn his lesson.’

‘He has to go.’

‘We should get rid of all of them while we’re at it.’ That was a darker tone, one everyone else ignored. And Rose wondered – what had come first, the Death Eaters as monsters, or the assumption that so many of them were bad before they chose it. She wondered if good really meant good, when _teenagers_  alluded to murder in a time of peace.

Rose only crossed her arms, bumping her knee against the side of her bag to reassure herself that everything was still inside it. She didn’t come to the meetings to talk, to comment on how much they all hated one person. She came to keep an eye on what was happening. To make sure nothing truly evil could be done.

Nothing ever was.

The group was all talk, no action. Or, all words and no spells, she thought. They ranted about the evil their parents had to put up with, about the war and the scars and the fears Scorpius was dragging back up. But they never did anything.

Until a month later, when Rose went to the barely-used classroom to find missing people and grinning faces. There was power in the air, cracking around them. Whispers and laughter that she didn’t trust.

She knew the looks on their faces – it was the same feral look, out for blood, in the pictures in the history books, the old, faded yellow wanted signs that sat in the archive of the Ministry.

She knew what happened, so she took a step back, out of the room, clutching her bag to her side as she fled from the corridor. She didn’t know where any of them were, but she knew one thing – no matter how big Hogwarts was, trouble always created a crowd.


	28. Chapter 28

There were moments in life when time seemed to stop. Pause, slow, allow the eye to take snapshots to file away for the quiet sleepless nights.

There had been so many for Scorpius recently. Every time Albus smiled, the trusting way he always leant into Scorpius’ touches. Every time his own heart skipped, or he found a smile on his face – a rare, true smile, not the vicious one he had always used in his present.

It was… peaceful. So peaceful, and he should have known it wouldn’t last. Should have known the silence and the lack of hate was readying for something worse. But he had become lax. Forgotten the _good_ could be as evil as the _bad._

It was a mistake he would never make again.

He was walking alone that evening. The teachers had finally stopped watching him – they believed in love, and they knew he and Albus were… something to each other. Love was too much of a strong word, one that terrified Scorpius, though he would never admit that to anyone. But these people believed in love – it had won them the war, the Boy Who Lived loving so much he gave himself up for his friends, giving them a protection the Dark Lord could not even imagine.

So he was alone, unwatched, and he thought he was safe. Until he heard the whisper, the running footsteps, the door slamming and a voice crying out a spell before he could even react.

Scorpius may have been _evil_ in the eyes of this world. But he would never stab even an enemy in the back; every person deserved a chance, even if it was only the _pretence_ of one.

His wand flew out of his pocket, and he spun around, to see it in the hands of a smirking Gryffindor. Behind her stood students from every house – including his own.

Traitors, he thought. He’d read their history books, head of it, how the Slytherins were always put down for just wearing the vivid green of their robes. They had always protected their own – and now they were turning on them.

He tilted his head to the side. ‘Ten,’ he said softly, ‘against one? Did you doubt yourselves so much?’

Maybe he shouldn’t goad them into anything. But they already had murder in their eyes, and he would never fall without a fight.

He may not have been a king in this world, but that didn’t mean he was a coward. No, that was the people before him.

‘Everyone here has something to prove,’ a voice said, one he knew well, though in this world, it was… less. Or more, maybe. His Roxanne was full of fury, anger and rage. But under it all – out of everyone in his world, he would trust her the most. But this girl was different. Moreso, when she smiled at him, sharp teeth and danger. ‘My grandparents were tortured into insanity by a member of your family, did you know?’

Abbot. _Abbot._ He hadn’t put it together. Hadn’t needed to – because they didn’t share the same name.

‘Shall we see how you far under the same treatment they received?’ she asked, raising her wand. ‘They teach us, you know. About those spells. Unforgivable, because of the lives they’ve ruined. I think in this case, it’s very forgivable.’

How strange, that the girl raised to be evil in his world was more interested in books, and the one raised in kindness was not. Evil wasn’t always taught or nurtured. For some people, the more perfect the world, the darker their soul.

There was so much _anticipation_ around him. And still, he refused to cower. ‘Are you trying to talk yourself into it?’ he asked. ‘It takes more, you know, than just saying the spell. You have to feel it yourself, your intent.’

‘Oh, I know.’ She raised her wand – and around her, other wands appeared, from pockets and sleeves and they were clenched with white knuckles and a few shaking hands. ‘ _Crucio.’_

He’d expected it, partly. He’d been on the receiving end of that spell before, as a child, as a first year. From people who thought they could take his crown and wear it themselves. But no amount of knowing could ever prepare the mind for the pain of the curse. He dropped to the floor, body shaking, mind screaming – though he didn’t utter a sound. He refused to.

After that – Scorpius lost count.

Spellwork was one thing and each person there excelled. But while older wizards seemed to forget that spells were only one form of weapon, teenagers never did. He was defenceless, unable to move as he felt feet in his stomach, on his head, on his legs. Laughter and voices rose as they realised they weren’t going to be caught.

No one was going to stop them getting revenge on the boy who thought them all weak.

And they were, he thought through the pain. They were weak – because the only way they could do this was in a pack. Was when the person they hated had no way to fight back.

But even evil got bored sometimes, and eventually, they stopped. Roxy knelt down at his side as the others faded into the background, her eyes running over him as she smiled and dropped his wand at his side. ‘Feeling powerful still, Malfoy?’

He didn’t bother replying – not that he thought he could. He just stayed there, curled up, wondering how much of himself still worked, as the footsteps walked away from him.

Silence. It was bliss, though it allowed his mind to struggle through the pain and _think._

This – how many people in his own world had received torture from him and his friends. All for being on the wrong side, for believing in _Harry Potter_ more than the Dark Lord. How many times had they thought him the evil one, the one on the wrong side, how many of them had wished to do this very thing to his own people?

He… Scorpius didn’t know what he was meant to think. Believe. Other than good and evil was no more black and white than the storm clouds in the sky.

Eventually, he was found.

Footsteps running up to him, a cool hand against his cheek.

‘I’m sorry.’ Now that was a voice he didn’t expect, as he cracked open an eye to look at Rose. There was guilt in her eyes, so much of it he knew she knew this was going to happen. But he didn’t have the energy to blame her. Not when she had already shown her disgust of him. ‘I’ll… I’ll get a teacher.’

He didn’t know what happened then. Conversations above him, the feeling of floating. Something cool against his skin, his hand being curled around something.

He slept. He woke. He slept, and ignored the questions, ignored Albus when he woke to find the other boy resting by his side. When he woke – he wasn’t sure how long afterwards – feeling more like he could feel his body working, he glanced down his hand, hiding under the cover.

Resting inside it was the time turner.

He wasn’t a king here. He was little more than the pests that kings tried to kill.


End file.
